My Templar
by Blablover5
Summary: When the Hero of Ferelden agreed to help Hawke solve the mystery of the red lyrium she never thought it'd draw her back into Cullen's life. When the world's falling down around her and her own blood is trying to kill her, she knows she has no right to rekindle what they began in the deep roads. Then why can't she stop thinking about him. Sequel to My Warden
1. Chapter 1

Ice coalesced around Lana's fist as she faced down the elf daring enough to bypass the wards on her cave. He only cocked his head to the side from her threat, his mouth drawn in concentration. The daggers on his back remained sheathed but she knew the tightening of the muscles, the warning it carried. With a wiry body, the elf dressed himself in finer leathers than most human's she knew. Certainly better than the typical bandits of Crestwood. His grey eyes struck through her and dared her to make a move.

"Wait!" Hawke's voice echoed through the cave, "Don't get all magic icy stabs! I brought the Inquisitor."

Behind the elf, a human stumbled in - his own hand threading in a signature purple sparkle. His shoulder was exposed despite the eternal rains of Crestwood, but that fact didn't seem to bother him much judging by the smirk implanted on his face. A blonde elven woman slipped in next, her eyes zipping across Lana, back to her bow, the threatening mage again, then across the cave. She seemed uncertain of anything save the arrow notched and aimed at Lana's chest. Off to a great start so far. Anyone else want to murder you today?

Oh Maker, she sighed, knowing all too well the dwarf smirking next to Hawke. Of course she'd bring him. Varric and Hawke were like cookies and milk. You couldn't have one around without the other spilling all over the floor. Lana tried to not roll her eyes as the dwarf tipped his head at her in greeting. The last time they saw each other had been under less than fiery circumstances - a moment in her life she wished to forget.

Lana shook away the magic, heat returning to her fist as the energy dissipated, and she extended a hand to the elf. He watched her with caution, then took it. "I am Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden."

The human mage blinked his watery eyes in surprise while the blonde woman squeaked and tried to leap away. Her panic squeals were reminiscent of that first nug Lana got for Leliana. Only Varric and Hawke remained unimpressed from the title. Hawke slipped her elbow on top of Varric's head to aid her lean, but the dwarf didn't blink. Theirs was a curious friendship.

The Inquisitor nodded softly either unaware of who Lana was, or having already surmised as such. It was hard to tell with the Dalish, they liked to play distant observers living in the woods while picking your brain for everything you knew. His cautious eyes darted back to the party behind him, taking a momentary pause at the human man, before landing back on the warden of the hour. "We need your help."

Lana surveyed the people one last time. Hawke had promised her an army, or as close to one as a renegade warden could get without a blight to force noble's hands. She'd scrabbled together fighting forces from the most unlikely of places by cracking open rocks to find the gems within, but a power radiated off these four. This might be her only hope. "And I need yours."

The Inquisitor folded his hands, the fingers knotting together as he leaned back, but it was the dwarf that spoke next.

"The Champion of Kirkwall, the Hero of Ferelden, and the Inquisitor banding together," Varric said, patting that crossbow of his. "That sound you just heard was thedas clenching its collective sphincters."

* * *

Lana'd seen her fair share of estates, keeps, castles, strongholds, fortresses, and any other fancy term you wanted to throw around for a heavily fortified area with its own drawbridge. But Skyhold was something else. An unsettling power undulated from the tips of the stone running the lengths of the tallest battlement down into the bones of the mountain itself. She felt it as she trekked across the drawbridge, Hawke grinning at her side. There was no particular reason for the exuberance, Hawke was always smiling. It was a quirk of her cousin Lana grew used to over time if she didn't stop and think about it often.

"This place feels ancient," Lana said while dragging her fingers across the mortar.

Hawke snorted, "Looks better than the last time I was here. Hey! I think they got the tavern all set up. We should check it out and see if there are any 'perfectly legal' games to crash."

"The last time we did that..." Lana began. Hawke batted her concerns away, as if her cousin wasn't the one missing a tooth because of it.

"Merciful Andraste." A sweet Orlesian accent rang like a bell through the courtyard. Lana twisted around and spotted Leliana all but running across the grounds towards her.

"Game will have to wait, cousin," Lana whispered to Hawke before turning to Leliana. She'd heard whispers of her old friend turning more sullen and inward over the intervening years, but a beam of sunlight brightened Leliana's face as she wrapped Lana in a hug.

"I'd lost all track of you and feared the worst. What were you doing in Crestwood of all places?"

"I missed you too, Leliana," Lana said while patting her friend's back. Leliana's chainmail bit through her far more unassuming attire. She never wore the grey warden stuff save for the rare trek to the Anders. Lana even abandoned her old mage robes miles back as wary farmers and merchants eyed up anyone thought to be a renegade mage. Now she wore the traveling outfit of any unaffiliated messenger; brown trousers, a green tunic, and a soft velvet vest. There were leather bits knotted here and there around her arms and waist but nothing in her attire screamed "Once Commander of the Grey." Barely anyone deigned a glance in Lana's direction unless Hawke stood beside her. It was hard to miss the Champion, some of which was due to her incessant need to wear the pointy Champion armor. And most was because that at over six feet tall and built like she could deadlift a dragon, Hawke was a living distraction before she even opened her mouth.

Leliana released her grip on Lana and stepped back. The smile wiped away to a neutral frown, her crystal eyes hardening as she surveyed her old friend. She absently tugged her lilac hood lower over her eyes. "What has occurred with the grey wardens? They vanished leaving no trace. Even your Vigil's Keep seemed abandoned."

"That..." Lana glanced around Skyhold. There was no reason to think there'd be any warden spies lurking about. She didn't feel the tug of the blight beyond her own veins, but after two weeks of keeping one step ahead of Clarel's thugs Lana wasn't about to take any chances. "We should talk in private about that."

"Of course, you should meet the other advisors. The Inquisitor..."

"Is back in Crestwood. Bandits, something something, undead, something something, rifts, something something, death ah! stabs. The usual," Hawke interrupted in her booming voice.

"I see," Leliana eyed up the Champion before slipping a hand around Lana's arm. The Spymaster guided Lana towards what must be the great hall of the hold. Skyhold was in a state, with craftsmen and servants bustling about in honor of some big todo. Hammers and whisks were both in evident as the underbelly of power required an eternal going over. Lana tried to ask Leliana about what stirred the nest but her friend was in a surprisingly silent mood. A few people scattered at the sight of their Spymaster slipping through the halls, then more pointed and gawked at Hawke. Lana tried to shrink lower into the collar of her shirt while Hawke waved vigorously at a dwarf perched upon scaffolding.

"Friend of yours?" Lana asked.

"I have no idea," Hawke answered pumping her hand in the air.

Leliana led them through a back hall and past an abandoned desk beside a warm fire. She stopped at a massive door and gazed out at the winter snows upon the mountains. It wasn't a window so much as a break in the wall itself. Though, that might sort of count as a window. A question for architect philosophers. Leliana gestured to a bile of bricks scattered along the floor, "We are still at work repairing the hold."

"Gotta murder all the slavers first, am I right?" Hawke said. Leliana shot a question at Lana, but she shrugged. It was rare for Lana to understand all of what her cousin said. The Champion dipped down and picked up one of the tumbled bricks. Towering over both of them, she slotted it into place and smiled. The winds knocked against the edge, and the brick promptly slipped through the not-window and landed outside with a crack. "Sorry about that," Hawke grimaced.

Leliana coldly eyed up the Champion but only murmured, "It is no mind." Yanking open one of the two massive doors, Leliana ushered them into the room of the map. They probably had a better name for it, but the main feature was a table fit for a feast but covered in a map of all of thedas. A pair stood beside it bickering over one pick lost amongst a dozen others. The woman in gold wore that painted smile of a diplomat who could destroy your life far greater and easier than any assassin. And the other...

Lana's feet ground to halt. She blinked her eyes and shook her head a few times to dislodge the illusion, but it was still him. Here. Alive. In the flesh. Thinking about flesh was not helping. Hawke stumbled into the back of Lana, then grabbed onto her cousin's shoulders to steady herself. She hadn't thought of him in... A twist knotted her stomach as the memory of an unexpected but not unwanted dream answered the question for her. He never seemed to stray too far from her thoughts no matter where she wound up in thedas. Except for...

"You didn't tell me about Cullen," Lana whispered to her cousin.

Hawke shrugged, then bellowed in the closest she came to a whisper, "Forgot, I guess."

That drew the attention of the woman in gold and the man she never imagined she'd see again. Cullen blinked his eyes slowly at Hawke, then his sight traveled down to the mage in the warrior's grasp. Color drained from his cheeks and he shook his head. When that didn't cause Lana to vanish, he gripped onto the table and struggled for a few deep breaths. Lana smiled weakly at him before Leliana snapped her attention away.

"Our Warden has arrived ahead of the Inquisitor," Leliana announced.

"Delightful timing. I am Josephine Montilyet, chief diplomat of the Inquisition," the woman in gold grabbed up a board off the table and began to attack it with a sharpened feather. "And this is Commander Cullen," she gestured to him with her quill, but didn't turn to him. Thank the Maker, she missed the commander still staring at his hands and blinking rapidly to make sense of this world. "Who," Josephine readied her quill above her board, "might I ask, are you?"

"I, uh," Lana tried to shake off the blush climbing up her backside, "Solona Amell, but please call me Lana."

"Lana is it?" Leliana smirked, their camaraderie picking up as if never dropped, "What happened to Lanny?"

"What do you think happened to it?" Lana cut back. She didn't mean for the venom in her voice, but the wound was still fresh no matter how much dirt she tried to kick in it. Leliana watched her anew, a cold dissection slicing up Lana.

"Solona A..." Josephine's quill paused, "Amell. Lady Amell? The, you're the Hero of Ferelden? That's the Warden you knew?" she asked the Champion.

Hawke shrugged, "Sure, we're family after all!"

"I..." Josephine strode forward and extended her hand to Lana, "My lady, it is an honor to meet you."

"Uh," Lana took the hand and gripped it tight. "Please, it's not really, I don't want to cause a fuss."

"A woman of such esteem requires, I will have to rethink everything!" Josephine suddenly switched gears, her quill jabbing into the margins of her board. "A feast is necessary of course, and, oh dear, all the state rooms are currently occupied. What if we moved Duke Confort to..."

"Josie," Leliana admonished softly, pulling the ambassador out of her tizzy.

"What? What is wrong?" Josephine glanced from Leliana back to Cullen. The Commander had just enough sense to turn his attention back to the map to bury the shock yet camped on his face.

"I'll explain later," Leliana said, tipping her head.

"Lana's on the run from the wardens," Hakwe blurted out.

The Commander's amber eyes snapped up at that, his hand brushing across the hilt of his sword. Maker, she'd missed those little wrinkles across his brow and down his nose when determination set in.

"I am on the outs with the wardens but, it's a bit more complicated than that. The order's machinations are being kept from all save those closest to Clarel. I need to show you some..." Lana took a step forward towards the big map when the pounding below her skin rose up from its beaten back depths. She twisted on her ankle and would have fallen in front of the best of the Inquisition if Hawke had not caught her around the arms.

Josephine and Cullen both dashed to her, but it was Leliana that halted them. "I am assuming that you did not come to Skyhold under ease. Perhaps it would be best to take some time and get you acclimated to the area before we begin speaking of the wardens."

"A tour," Josephine exclaimed.

"I had something else in mind first," Leliana said. It was probably Lana's imagination, but she shuddered from the way her old friend's eyes glittered in cold mischief.


	2. Chapter 2

Freezing water poured down her exposed back as the she-devil dumped a second bucket. "Stop. Doing. That!" Lana gritted through chattering teeth. She hopped back and forth on her bare feet, splashing more mud against her frozen skin.

"I'm done with the first round of rinsing. Now we need to be getting to the scrubbing. Here!" The horrendous creature who tried to pass for human hurled a bar of soap over the wooden wall of the hastily assembled bath house. It bounced off Lana's shoulder and scattered to the grass. Unable to bend over in such a tight space, Lana bent her knees and hunted the soap out blindly. It was cheap for certain, the smell of lye overpowering and it looked like some gravel worked its way into the mix.

Sighing, Lana tried to lather the bar against her frozen skin but the soap was in no mood. The best it could bother were a few bubbles before giving up the ghost entirely and leaving a slimy film down her flesh. She did get a lovely abrasion down her stomach from the gravel though.

"This soap is impossible," Lana sighed. She chucked it back over the partition at the woman's head.

The creature from beyond the void caught it in one hand and threw the soap into a bucket. The ringing caused the nearby horses to whinny from their beds, stamping and snorting at the mage who kept shrieking during their afternoon feeding. It also pulled even more attention from wandering soldiers to the woman being bathed in the midst of their stables. And to think Lana once thought Leliana was too sweet for her own good. She should have listened closer to Marjoline.

The she-beast unearthed a brush as long as her arm and drug it across Lana's back. It had to be made from unfinished nails pounded into the back of a splintered log. Lana shrieked and leapt a good foot in the air, almost causing her to pop out of the top of the parturition. "What are you doing?!"

"Scrubbing you, as I was ordered to do," the woman sighed, tired of her victim questioning her torture tactics.

Lana tried to whip around to see her own back. It had to be bloodied meat after that attack, but all her fingers found were raised welts and a few misplaced suds. "You shall not touch me with that ever again. Do you understand?" Lana dampened the fire in her voice and tried to dip into her commanding presence. It completely failed on the washer woman.

"Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but around here I do as I'm told. You might want to learn that too unless you want to get kicked back to wherever they found you," the woman sneered. She gripped the brush tighter and aimed to rake up more of Lana's flesh.

The mage reached into the fade and wrapped her skin in stone, the bristles pinging as they struck. Trying a few more times to smash into Lana's skin, the woman sighed, "Take off that damn unholy magic."

"No!" Lana shouted feeling like a petulant child but also in no mood for healing her own back.

"I'll go and get a templar, he'll do you up a right treat and then you'll get your what-for," she threatened, banging the brush against Lana's skin. Even through the rock armor, she could still feel it knocking into her. Twisting her anger into mana, Lana threw a fist from the fade into the brush. It flew up out of the woman's hands and smashed against the ground with enough force to bury itself into the dirt. Lana glowered at the woman while she removed her stone armor, but the woman remained unimpressed.

"Look at what you did. Now I'll have to wash it, then wash you."

"It will not touch me!" Lana screamed, the pounding in her head matched by the throb of her skin. The woman wasn't about to give up either, the two ready to come to blows or worse when a new voice joined in the fray.

"Is there a problem here?" Sweet Andraste! Lana sunk lower from that voice, curling her arms around her naked flesh while crumpling into a ball. Out of all the impromptu stable washings in all of thedas, he had to stroll into this one. She placed her ear against the wooden wall while keeping the rest of her hidden from view.

"Nope, Commander," the she-devil answered back. "Just washing up this vagrant. Spymaster's orders."

"Vagrant?" Cullen asked. He stepped towards the partition and was about to peer in at the to-be-washed in question when Lana popped up.

"Hi," she said. Cullen skittered back, the demon brush he scooped up almost flying out of his hands. She tried to sound cheerful but her eyes pleaded with him to save her.

"Lana, what are you..." He shook his head and swallowed a few times from the surprise of her leaping out of any corner of Skyhold. A blush bloomed over his forehead as it must have dawned on him that she was completely naked behind only a few thin scraps of wood. "Ma'am," Cullen straightened up, turning to the she-devil, "do you not know who this is?"

"Don't know, don't care," she answered. "All I know is we don't need possible blight running through the hold." To punctuate her sentiment, she dumped another bucket of ice water onto her victim's head. Lana managed to swallow down the screams to a minimum, but the water bit into her flesh, the pain fresh courtesy of the brush's attack. As Lana wiped her crumpled hair out of her face, she swore she caught the barest hints of a smirk crossing Cullen's face. But by the time she finished knotting her hair back and wringing it out, he wore the same stern countenance as before.

Lana was about to speak to him when the woman threw another bucket of water at her, this one somehow even colder. "For Andraste's sake, woman, are you trying to drown me?!" Lana moaned, shaking her head like a wet dog.

"I'm doing as I was told," the she-devil repeated for the fiftieth time. Lana would almost feel for her if it weren't for the gleeful glint in her eye. She readied another bucket when Cullen grabbed onto her hand, the bucket swinging in a threat to splatter anyone else.

"That is probably enough to clear away any threat of blight," he focused on the woman but his eyes darted towards Lana in her drenched state and they overran with pity.

Then the strangest thing happened. This monstrous creature from a nightmare realm blushed, a stammer never before thought possible crumpled up her lips and she nodded, "Aye, if you say so, Ser. I think she's probably had enough going over for one day."

"Good," Cullen said. He extracted the bucket from the woman's hands and placed it on the grass. When he turned back to Lana, his voice shifted to a whisper, "I admit, I didn't expect to find you here."

"Naked and nearly drowned beside the horses? Isn't that how you greet all dignitaries in Skyhold?" Lana tripped back to the safety of sarcasm. She hadn't had time to process what his being here meant, if it should even mean anything to either of them. Three years was a long time, and he'd have had ample opportunity to move on from whatever it was they fumbled around in the deep roads. The dashing commander, once loyal templar knight turned rogue heretic, oh that had to get some ladies panting. They were probably drawing lots to see who'd get first go at him in parlors across Orlais. Lana convinced herself that Cullen already had a wife and two children before Leliana even got her to the stables for her cleansing.

Cullen shook his head, uncertain if he should laugh at her sentiments or not. "Are you all right?"

"Very, very cold," as Lana's anger subsided so did her resistance to the mountain breeze prickling against her frozen skin. She massaged her hands against her arms willing the friction to warm her, but it wasn't enough. Stepping into fire might not be enough.

"Of course, you should...um," Cullen turned to the she-devil and said, "What happened to La...the vagrant's...her clothes?"

"Boiling 'em, got to get all the blight. Only way," she said dusting her hands off.

Cullen blanched and turned back to Lana, but she shrugged. Something told her it'd be a long time before she saw her gear again. What was a whole day spent standing in the yard trying to ignore the stares while freezing to death? She'd certainly done worse.

"Here," the she-devil chucked a piece of cloth at Lana's head.

By sheer willpower, she managed to catch it before it soaked into her hair. It wasn't a towel but a robe, almost but not quite silk. If it weren't for the bland color, she'd almost think it was one of Leliana's. Lana slipped her arms into the grey robe and knotted off the belt around her waist. The fabric was so thin the water against her skin washed it nearly translucent, but nearly was better than fully naked. It clung to what she had for hips, bunching behind her. She ran her hands down the back to try and smooth it out. "Oh, for the love of the Maker. This thing barely even covers my...uh." The blush burned across her skin raising the goosepimples even higher as she did her best to avoid eye contact with the commander. "May I have some pants?" Lana struggled to get her voice to a calm question.

The she-devil yanked open the partition and smiled, "No." Lana dropped her hands down the front and back of the robe, trying to tug it down so she didn't moon the entire army. Unfortunately, that also pulled down the top, exposing more of her chest. A dark urge to pulverize the woman to paste rose through her mind, but she tamped it back. It wouldn't help anyway. She'd still be just as nearly naked and now have a dead body to deal with.

Cullen's eyes were drawn by Lana's hands scurrying to cover herself, but he snapped them up to the top of her head. Coughing and swallowing a dozen um's, he finally managed to say, "Lady A...I think, that is to say, I know a way to. Follow me."

"What?" Lana glanced up at him. He pinned his gaze above her, terrified to look anywhere in her exposed direction.

"I have clothing you can borrow."

"Sweet Andraste!" Lana cried. He gestured to the stairs, then paled as he realized the logistics of her trying to climb them while in such a short garment.

"What if I, you go ahead of me," Cullen paused in his steps and let her take the lead.

She stepped up a few of the stairs and paused, uncertain where to head, when he sidled in behind her so close it blocked off any view of her backside. "Thank you," Lana whispered. Together they climbed like that, Lana yanking down on the robe while Cullen shielded her. His hands slid along the railings on both sides while she felt his eyes boring into the back of her head. The discipline of templars was something of legend. "Um," Lana paused, "which way do I go?"

His warm breath ruffled her frozen skin, "To your right. Don't worry, I'll stick close."

By the grace of the Maker, they made it to his office without stumbling across anyone else, though something told her Cullen was passing signs to his people to get out of the way. Or glaring them out of the way. Regardless, she was grateful as they stumbled into a place with walls, and doors, and no other people gawping at her. While Cullen shut the door, Lana gazed around the room. Like the rest of Skyhold it was mostly finished with a pile of pried up wood tossed in the corner and a tree trying to break inside. Surely, given time, it'd be cleared up. He had a practice dummy strapped to a wall, its face full of daggers. Lana wondered who he was thinking of while working through that rage. His desk was a disaster; bottles half finished, meals forgotten, papers piled in unsound towers, and all of it coated in wax from tipped candles while someone paced about. The few chairs were also covered in books, papers, and what looked like a small chess set. Lana snickered at the sight, drawing Cullen's attention.

"Sorry, I...The seneschal at Vigil's Keep used to have stern words with me often for failing to properly inventory my missives. Said it made it impossible to prepare the books," she smiled but the memory stung back. The keep, her keep that was once full to bursting.

"It's my, things have been..." Cullen scampered past her and bundled up the filthy flatware and bottles in his arms as if he had anywhere to put them. Whipping his head around the office, he realized the only logical place was the desk he just yanked them off of. Shrugging at his blunder, he looked over at Lana standing in frozen bare feet with the robe suckered against her skin, and a blush burst across his cheeks. It was so bright, for a brief moment Lana feared he contracted a fever from his working squalor.

"You needed...wanted to change into proper clothing." Opening his arms, Cullen dumped his trash across the desk.

"Proper isn't necessary, I'll accept anything that reaches my thighs at this point," Lana sighed. She folded her arms across her chest and knocked against her nipples hard enough to crack though ice. Oh, so that's why...a blush to match the commander's curled up her stomach.

Cullen glanced around as if he expected pants to appear from thin air, then he sighed, "My clothing is up...give me a moment, please." Before Lana could respond, he grabbed onto the ladder in the midst of the room and climbed skyward. She craned her neck up to watch, savoring the way his thigh muscles strained from the exertion. What are you doing? Lana snapped out of her reverie as Cullen vanished into his little loft. With her arms still wrapped around her chest, Lana flitted about the room inspecting but not touching the bookshelf. Most of the titles were what one would expect a leader of an army to own. She'd had more than a few in her own little library, though field marching tactics offered little advice in the way of fighting darkspawn. Most formations for warfare would fail instantly in the deep with soldiers plopping off cliffs and falling into lava.

"I think this, hope this will suffice until your clothing is dry," Cullen's voice called from above. The ladder creaked from his weight as he began the climb back down.

"You have a book by Brother Genativi?" Lana shouted so he'd hear. She pulled on the thinner tome and found it wasn't an account of chantry lore or thedas history but a tale of his time bumping into the Dalish. There was no mention of werewolves, or rhyming trees for that matter, but her heart bloomed from the loping words of the kindly and curious man she once rescued. She slipped the book back into its place and continued to explore his shelves.

"Ah, yes, there are more than a few of his histories around Skyhold if you're curious. I don't have many here, and..." Cullen paused upon the ladder, only one step from the ground, his eyes peering between the rungs, "What are you looking at?"

Lana yanked out the book that sparked her curiosity; a cover of throbbing red was all it needed to warn the reader of the dangers lurking within. "This? You own this? The Awakening of the Dragon King?" Her eyebrows shot up as she dangled the tome before him. Cullen massaged the back of his neck and he glared a hole through his already ramshackle ceiling. She knew he was struggling to either admit he had no idea what the book was or call her on the fact that she knew exactly what it was.

He chose option number three, "I thought it was a history of King Calenhad."

Lana smirked, "It sort of is, if you snip out all the dirty parts. Though I think that leaves you with ten pages at best." Still smiling, she placed the book back where she found it.

"Here," Cullen extended a pair of trousers towards her, "I doubt they will fit you, but it was the best I had."

"Thank you," Lana accepted them. The knees were worn to a soft tan, but the seems were sturdy and what did it matter? It was better than the nothing she had on. Lana bent over to hook her leg into the pants when she heard a strangled goose sound. It was so inhuman she snapped up into the amber eyes of the commander. His own attention was focused upon her breasts trying to spill free from the top of the robe. He flinched as his mind caught up with his body and Cullen actually smacked a hand over his eyes. Returning to sliding the pants on, Lana cursed to herself that the man had to stop being so damn adorable. She yanked the pants above her hips only to have them slide back down.

"You wouldn't happen to have an extra belt, would you?" she asked while holding the edge of the pants up.

"That, I...I'm afraid not," Cullen admitted, defeat ringing through him.

Lana waved her hand, "It's no mind." Rolling the top of the pants down, she shortened and tightened them with each fold until they clung loosely to her thin hips. It also pulled up the crotch so she didn't feel quite so untethered and free. Asking for smallclothes would probably put Cullen on the pyre.

"I thought this might help as well," Cullen said as he passed over a tunic. The colors had faded to a dull grey and it was softer than velvet from wear, but someone took the time to blot away any stains and mend a torn seam under the arm. Lana slipped the tunic over her head and found just how much she and the commander differed in size. The arms dangled a full cuff off the ends of her fingertips. Due to not having the same strapping shoulders, the neck of the tunic bowed deep down her chest, leaving that pesky cleavage on display. She rolled up the arms, but there wasn't much of an easy way to solve the low neck even with the starched collar.

"Is it...it doesn't fit as well as-" Cullen danced back and forth on his feet, his eyes wanting but not staring at her.

Lana interrupted him, "It's fine, it's good, better than what was on offer. Thank you for it."

"You're, uh...why did Leliana send you out to the stables for that? If you don't mind my asking. If you do, you don't have to answer."

A smile warmed up her cold body. Despite the commanding presence that wilted stable hands turned she-devils it was still the same Cullen under all that armor. And he didn't even know the power he had to sway hearts. Not that he was the type to use it. Lana slid up onto his desk yanking the ill fitting pants lower, but it got her feet off the cold stone ground.

"I suspect she's mad at me for 'missing' her summons."

"Ah," Cullen stepped closer to her and tried to smoothly lean his body against the desk. Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance and his body slid lower to an uncomfortable position. His elbow clanged against a bottle and his waist twisted against the desk's edge. Lana watched, waiting for him to try again, but judging by the blush he was too terrified to try.

"I didn't try to miss it or 'order people to obscure my location' as she insinuated. I was in the deep roads at the time, didn't even know of the conclave or this Inquisition. By the time the Temple of Sacred Ashes was attacked I was off in Orlais jabbing my thumb in some prickly pies," Lana slipped further back on the desk, her bum knocking into the scattered dishes.

"But to have you scrubbed down and on the stable grounds," Cullen shook his head, a look of shock twisting up his face. Did he not know his Spymaster's past?

"Never get on Leliana's bad side, trust me."

Cullen nodded, "I'm coming to realize this."

"She was right about the blight though. And it maybe being transmitted through clothing or on skin, we're not sure. Grey wardens, we sort of stop noticing it after awhile and it can...it can wreak havoc amongst armies."

"I thought you were in Crestwood not the deep roads."

Lana shrugged, causing her bare shoulder to peek out of the tunic's bowing neckline, "Wardens and Blight, we're inseparable."

A soft silence descended between them, both staring ahead at the shut door and trying to pick through four years of complicated history. She'd bet on foolish hope recently, only to have it burst apart on her. To try again... It seemed cruel to even dangle the idea before him, or her. After she left Kirkwall and returned to Amaranthine, Lana kicked herself for giving in to...Maker, she still wasn't certain. A schoolgirl crush? Years of lonely lust? Or was it a crisis of faith in her life, a crisis she had yet to solve? Regardless, it was her burden, not his. He had more than enough golden opportunities to find contentment here in this magnificent hold. Just not with the she-devils of baths.

Cullen coughed drawing Lana's attention to him. Maker, how she missed losing herself in those doleful eyes, like a drop of golden honey settling in a mug of warm tea. "You, uh, um, your hair is longer," he stuttered out.

She picked up the end of the strands and ran them through her fingers. "Haven't had an opportunity to attend to it lately. Not many barbers in the deep roads. Ample opportunity there with no competition if one's willing to shave darkspawn." Lana dropped her own locks and stared at his, "Yours is...different?"

"Oh, that! I...well," Cullen dug his fingers across his scalp rifling the golden waves that she remembered as ringlets. "It's a not very interesting tale of...change. I wanted a change, I guess." Lana nodded, she knew that feeling if not quite the execution. It'd take blood magic to erase her curls. "Do you...um," his voice dropped to a whisper, "do you like it?"

"I..." Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for a brief moment his face reminded her of Alistair, sweet brown eyes and sweptback blonde hair. Her face constricted from the memory but Cullen had to only see disgust. She tried to chuckle to cover up for the wound weeping in her heart. "It suits you. But so did the curls, so, I suppose whatever you want to do. I'm not one to judge or offer advice on matters of hair design things. Darkspawn rarely care about such things, not that I tend to ask them. It's all...I'm going to stop talking now."

He bobbed his head, his eyes drifting down to her exposed shoulder. Whispering to the wind, he said, "I worried for you."

"For me? That's a full time job," Lana smirked, then grimaced. The wall kept her aloof from people. It was supposed to keep her and others safe from not getting attached, but look how well that turned out. She drew her fingers across his gloved hand perched upon the desk. "I was worried about you too. After the explosion at Kirkwall, I..."

She expected the old templar armor to fall back into place, for Cullen to rear up and thunder against mages, but a different cloud stormed across his face. He winced and glared through the window slit behind his desk. "You were right."

"That'd be a first."

He turned from his vigil to shoot her a patronizing look, but Lana wasn't being sardonic for once. She felt the sting of her mistakes that led to losing them in every step across Ferelden and Orlais trying to right her wrongs. It was a wonder she didn't leave behind bloody footprints. Cullen sighed, "You tried to warn me about Meredith but I couldn't see, wouldn't see. I failed them, failed you, I should have listened to what you told me."

"Maker's breath, Cullen," Lana snapped pulling his attention from the window, "I had no idea about the whole evil red lyrium statue sword thing. No one did."

"But you knew about the violations, the brandings, the...everything I missed!" he twisted his head around as if trying to shake the misdeeds from his soul.

She couldn't stop herself from cupping his cheek. The warmth of his body radiated through her cold hand and he leaned into it, his eyes slipping closed. For a moment she lost herself and stroked the scar upon his lip with her thumb. "Do you want to hear every thing I've missed? Every poor decision I've made? I hope you have a comfortable chair because it's a rather long list."

Cullen snickered, the laugh drawing his stubble across her palm. It refreshed her skin to feel it again. "I don't know if we have the time. 'The day slips away.'"

"'But the moon is fresh,'" she quoted automatically, then had to shake off a blush as she remembered where the passage originated. Cullen's own guilty eyes glanced towards the bookcase. She had no idea templars read the contraband books after confiscating them. An easy silence rose between them where neither needed to say a word to fall into each other's presence, but she knew where it could lead. Where it shouldn't lead. Lana pulled her hand away from his cheek and placed it back upon the desk.

"Three years," she said staring a hole into the ground, "is a long time. With the sky tearing, and a mad darkspawn on the loose...Maker, why does that sound so familiar?"

"Four years, actually."

"Hm..." Lana turned to Cullen. His own transient thoughts shifted across his face.

"Four years have passed since we last...when we were toge- assisted each other in our duties."

"Right," Lana bobbed her head. "Four years, even a bigger amount of time then. And I don't want to...I mean, if it-"

Cullen rose up from his lean upon the desk and adjusted the sword upon his hip. The action drew Lana's attention downward and she realized she'd best continue to his feet or risk another blush. "I understand. You do not wish to make things difficult between us given the importance of the work here."

"Things were never difficult," Lana began, a smile from the memory curling through her. She broke it off and backed down from the foolish thought. "You're right, for the sake of thedas it's best if we be, forget about...No, I don't mean forget. Be friendly, not that we're not being friendly now...Maker's sake," Lana curled her hands around her forehead in consternation, "why is this so hard?"

She heard a soft chuckle from the sidelines and turned to stare a question at Cullen. He smiled a knot of pain and answered, "I believe that was what ran through my head after you walked into the war room. That diatribe more or less."

"Never gets easy does it?"

"I'm afraid not," Cullen admitted and weariness washed across him. It was as if he cut a string and let every heartache, every loss show upon his face. Just as quickly he pulled it all back. The joys of command.

Lana had her own duties to attend to, and it was unlikely Hawke would remain docile for much longer. She eased off the desk, hiked the pants back up, and smiled, "I should go find my old friend turned personal torturer and explain why I wasn't there for her. Think of a plan to solve this warden problem."

"Right, of course," Cullen dipped his head.

Padding towards the door, Lana paused at the handle and turned back. "Thank you again for the clothes. I probably would have died in a puddle of embarrassment if I only had that little Orlesian robe to wear."

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, "Then I'm glad I helped. It would not do to lose you now."

Lana nodded and glanced down, "Cullen, for what it's worth, I am glad to see you again."

His taciturn smile shattered and he dipped his head down to gather his thoughts. "I am glad to see you as well."

With his parting words Lana yanked open the door and ran smack dab into Hawke. Almost literally as her giant of a cousin stood hulking outside the door. She easily spotted the commander over Lana's head, then glanced down at her. "Hey! If it ain't the lady of the hour. Been talking to Varric and...what in Andraste's tits are you wearing? Nearly got your own tits on display to, if ya didn't know."

Lana sighed and tried to carefully shut the door behind her, but Hawke managed to step in the way, "I am aware, thank you. The commander was kind enough to loan me a change of clothes after my Skyhold welcome."

Hawke guffawed at Lana's pulled face, "Heard about that fun bathing time. Everybody's heard about it, in fact."

"Wonderful, I'm famous."

She thought her sometimes surly nature would turn off the Champion, but it only seemed to encourage the woman who went beyond the pale to get her to smile. It seemed to be Hawke's newest game, or perhaps her own sacred duty. "So you and the ol' Cullen know each other then?"

Lana glanced back at the man trying his best to pretend he couldn't overhear two people talking about him in his own doorway. "Yes, in a way, we were in the same circle in Ferelden."

Hawke scrunched up her face in thought, obviously ignoring Lana's explanation. As if struck by lightning, Hawke stood bolt upright and snapped her fingers. In a voice that could shatter mountains, Hawke said, "Oh! That's the templar you were begging for in your sleep."

"Bloody hell," Lana squeaked. She couldn't dare risk glancing back at Cullen, so she focused a glare on Hawke. The woman was infuriating. She played the ignorant but giddy fool until you spoke to her for a few moments and realized she'd fully sized you up in minuted and knew all your dark secrets. After traveling together for six months, it was a wonder Hawke didn't know Lana better than she knew herself.

"I never did hear the name, got the templary bits though. Well, not got got. If ya catch my drift."

"Please, stop talking," Lana begged.

There was nothing to halt Hawke short of a qunari invasion and even that was dicey, "Explains all that whimpering in your sleep while working through the deep roads."

"No, that..." Lana's blush snapped away as another shame bloomed in her gut. The first she could stomach, but the latter burned her. "That's something else. Come on," using just a small spell, Lana shoved the immovable Champion out of the doorway and slammed it shut. She shook her head trying to wish some sense into the world.

Hawke spread her arms wide, "What?"

Stepping ahead of her cousin, Lana spat back, "You'll be the death of me."


	3. Chapter 3

"And you're certain Lady Beverly will not be attending the fete?" Josephine leaned into Leliana's shoulder, prodding her with both a quill and arched eyebrow.

Leliana sighed, "Yes, the arrangements have been made."

"Good, because we do not want a repeat of last time. We're still finding pieces of him across Skyhold," Josephine cut back writing a line across her clipboard and then shoving one of the picks across the big map.

Lana had been hmming and nodding through most of the meeting while she lost herself out the window, but Josephine's cryptic words snagged her attention, "Pieces? Was his body exploded? Do you have access to gatlock?"

"Oh stars, no," Josephine shuddered at the very idea.

"She meant his clothing," Leliana chuckled. "The man drank from the wrong goblet, foolishly dosed himself with a wyvern poison meant for another, and spent the rest of the night convinced he was a dragon."

"Three soldiers had to coax his bare ass off the flag pole," Cullen grumbled. "Because he was 'too important' for us to shoot him down."

"Sounds like my kind of Satinalia," Hawke quipped. She sat beside Lana along the wall of the important room, her legs thrust so far off the shared bench the advisers had to stumble around her to get at their map. They were supposed to be formulating a plan to deal with the wardens, but they'd spent most of the morning talking about the nit and gritty of life at Skyhold while waiting for the Inquisitor.

"The man also kicked over three feeding troughs, rolled around in pitch for the roof, and attempted to...become amorous with a statue," Cullen said while his fingers batted against his sword.

"Please tell me it wasn't one of the horse ones," Lana sighed and caught the commander's gaze. He rolled his eyes and shook his head drawing a smile to her lips. Out of the corner of her periphery, Lana caught Leliana watching her with a quirk across her face.

The door blew open and the Inquisitor finally graced them all with his presence. An instant solemnity swept over the advisers from his presence. He bowed his patrician head, "Forgive me for my tardiness, there was an incident that required my attention."

"I hope it didn't involve pitch and a horse statue," Hawke said in a booming aside to Lana. Of course the rest of the advisers heard and couldn't stifle the giggle.

"I'm afraid I do not understand the reference," the Inquisitor said, his piercing grey eyes darting through the three professionals fighting to get back to neutral. He turned on his heel and eyed up the two women crashed together on the bench, "Please, fill in for us what you know of the wardens."

"Ah," Lana rose to her feet to approach the map while Hawke leaned back and placed her hands behind her head.

"What?" Hawke shrugged from four sets of eyes glaring at her relaxed posture, "All I know about wardens involves darkspawn, blight, and their thoughts on riding reverse-"

"All right," Lana interrupted, "please, do not elaborate on...I have this." She approached the great map and stepped beside Leliana. They'd had an honest discussion away from prying eyes where Lana told her everything, nearly everything. Leliana had a great chuckle over the image of Lana's body smothered by the oversized clothing courtesy of the commander, then offered her own as recompense. She'd intended to take the nightingale up on her offer but their catching up took so long after a time, Lana's were returned. She was surprised how white the Skyhold launders spruced up the vest; that was unlikely to last past the day.

"To understand what's happening, what must have them concerned, I have to tell you about what makes a grey warden. This is..." Lana sighed. She'd been prepping herself for this. After Clarel called for her head she thought it'd be easy to distance herself. Still, the rules of the order clung to her like twisted bedsheets. They may be threadbare and moldy, but they were all she had left in the world. "In order to sense darkspawn, to become a warden, we drink their blood. We take in the taint."

"Merciful Maker," Josephine gasped, her quill actually pausing. Leliana knew, or at least suspected enough to be unsurprised. Lana's eyes darted up to the only templar in the room. The wardens were always a bit iffy on whether the joining was blood magic or not, though she suspected they kept it secret so they'd never have to answer the question. Cullen looked wan but stoic, his heels dug in. Well, time for the next bombshell then.

"People think it makes us immune to the blight, but it doesn't. Not really. We're all...dying. Every warden gets twenty or thirty years and then the taint wins," Lana heard more gasps but she plowed through, needing to get this out. "That's when we start to hear voices, the darkspawn calling to us, or the archdemon, or maybe the blight itself. No one's certain."

"Like your dreams?" Cullen interrupted. His voice was barely a whisper, but it drew everyone's attention.

Lana nodded, "Yes, but something's happened. The calling it's...it's in everyone's head and it shouldn't be. Regardless of age or when someone took the joining, they're all hearing it. Every warden in thedas thinks they're going to die."

"Is it affecting you, Lady Amell?" the Inquisitor asked. He dressed himself in the garb of the Inquisition, the grey-tan leathers buttoned with the symbolic eye, all human attire save a pair of softskin dalish gloves. The familiar embroidery lightly touched her hand, as if he wished to comfort her through a difficult time. She almost snorted at the idea.

"When I'm focused on a task, talking to someone or casting magic I cannot hear it. But in the calm, it slips back into my mind, like whispers or a song on the wind."

"It's why I'm here!" Hawke shouted while waving her hand for emphasis. "I'm good at distractions."

"That's not why...well, that is true, you are good at them," Lana admitted. Was that why she kept Hawke around?

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Leliana pushed, a note of concern marring her porcelain face.

Lana shrugged, "Warden secrets. I didn't even realize it was affecting every warden until I ran into Hawke here. While I was investigating the red lyrium I received a summons from Clarel. She was calling all of us to Orlais to solve this crisis of the order."

"Could it kill you?"

She shuddered at the panic and also resolve in Cullen's tone, as if he could somehow fight the taint out of her. Lana could reassure him, she grew good at lying for comfort, but he deserved the truth. "I'm already dying, have been since the blight began."

"But this calling, what effect does it have upon you? We've heard of what Corypheus can do to warden mages, the sway he holds," Leliana whipped her head to Hawke who sat up now with a glare in her eye. Anders was her one weakness. Fire, demons, blood mages, poison spitting giant lizards; none of that slowed Hawke down, but if Anders so much as whimpered she fell apart. Maker only knew what Hawke saw in him, but she'd defend him to the death if it came to it.

"Varric's been chatty, I see," Hawke grumbled stewing into her folded arms.

Lana shook her head, "I hear nothing more than the archdemon, it is simply louder."

It should have been enough, but Leliana continued, "Your collapse earlier."

There was nothing getting past the spymaster. "It is an unrelated matter. I...would prefer to, it's not important."

"Lady Amell," Josephine swept in with her honeyed words, "if it could endanger the Inquisition..."

"Then we have a right to know," the Inquisitor finished.

"Fine," Lana snorted as she spread her hands across the map and dropped her head, "post guards around me at all times if you're worried. I grew up in the circle, it's unlikely I'd even notice bumping elbows with a soldier or two."

"Commander?" Leliana turned to Cullen.

"I trust her," he said sincerely. A warmth spread up Lana's cheeks and she shook her head. Foolish given how many unknowns they faced, but sweet. It was doubtful she'd say the same if the positions were reversed. "We have more than enough templars and mages walking around Skyhold to deal with any matters should they arise. Which is still assuming that Corypheus' control could extend that far."

"It is still a risk, a calculated one perhaps, but..." Josephine said.

"What if I promise to watch her? I've been doing it for a few months already. What's one more?" Hawke called out.

"And you have training in disarming magic?" the Inquisitor turned to her.

Hawke's jaw dropped open and she shook her head, "Uh, I was in Kirkwall - land of blood mages and demons and other bitey things. They kinda made me their Champion for being good at that stuff. I think I can deal with a bit of magic here and there."

"And it does not fail to pass me by that you two are related," the Inquisitor continued.

"So, what's that mean?" Hawke interjected. "Think I will falter in my 'line of duty' cause we've got the same great grandmother?" The two fell into bickering over who could best stop Lana in the event of a total catastrophe with Josephine joining in. Even Cullen tossed a comment or two their way all in support of her. Only Leliana remained out of it, her eyes piercing through every speaker and weighing them carefully.

Lana slammed her hand on the table and shouted, "The problem is not me!" As every eye turned to her, she shrunk down and mumbled, "At least not just me. I tried to attend Clarel's little soiree but was intercepted."

"By three wardens looking for easy pickings," Hawke shouted. If it weren't for her cousin remaining nearby it was doubtful Lana would be alive enough to be a threat to anyone. They'd claimed they were there to escort the Hero of Ferelden, but the more questions Lana asked, the more agitated they became until - as all things seem to do - a fight broke out. While picking over their bodies, Lana found the writ for her arrest: alive or dead.

"I never discovered what Clarel's game was, but her turning on me, sending wardens to eradicate another Warden Commander is unheard of. We've had our differences, and I suspect she's still jealous of missing out of the blight, but this...Either the Warden Commander of the forces in Orlais, Ferelden, and some of the Free Marches has decided to revolt against the order's laws or she's been corrupted."

"My vote's on the latter," Hawke called.

"So," the Inquisitor spoke softly while ignoring Hawke's pleas for attention, "what you're saying is the next step should be finding a way to discover Clarel's true plans. Any ideas on that?"

Lana turned to the quiet elf and sized him up anew. She'd heard the short short version from Hawke - blessed by Andraste (or not) closed the hole in the sky, mountain fell on him, he survived, got given the sword of power, leads the Inquisition - all very heroic things that could warp to darker ideals when held up to the light. But, for being thrust into a seat of power by either divine providence or random chance, he bore it well. Better than her, probably better than Hawke. It was hard to tell with that woman. She seemed allergic to real command and favored slipping off to the pub when anyone was looking for a leader. This one didn't bluster, he watched. He didn't stomp in and demand the floor, he waited patiently to be given it. But, she suspected, if something crossed him he'd thunder from on high to stop it. She wasn't certain if the man frightened or impressed her.

"Yes, I have one," Lana reached into her vest pocket and unearthed her own death warrant. The picture was a terrible likeness and unnecessary, everyone in the order knew her. "If the wardens want me, then we let them have me. Use me as bait."

"Over my dead body," Cullen stormed. Every eye whipped up to him, but he didn't crack from the pressure or blush himself to death. Another fire burned across his face as he sliced his hand through the air to punctuate his words, "You're our only connection to the wardens in Orlais. If we stretch your neck on the line, then we lose that insider information. I will not allow it."

"Is that your decision to make, Commander?" the Inquisitor said in his soft tone.

The sneer didn't break from Cullen's face, but his eyes danced over the Inquisitor. "I gave my opinion, that is all."

"I do not relish the idea of placing you in harm's way, but I could seed a few hints amongst known warden contacts as to your location." Leliana leaned over the map and prodded through Orlais, "The question is where to set the trap."

Lana plucked up the pick in Redcliffe and twisted it around in her hands. It was a long shot, but it might work. "I have another idea. We were too few in the Ferelden order for many years, so we relied upon dead drops to pass messages, ask for supplies, aid, little things. I could light one of them up and arrange a meeting here." She stabbed the pick down just outside of Teagan's village near a lake she once loved.

"An interesting idea," the Inquisitor said.

"This assumes anyone is left to answer," Leliana said, "but it could work. And if not, there are still my spies."

Lana frowned at the idea, more than likely word of her being with the Inquisition would spread off the mountain faster than any of Leliana's spies could spin the lie. But if this beacon worked, then it wouldn't be a random Orlesian warden she'd get answers from. It'd be one of her own.

"Inquisitor?" Lana asked, turning to him, "What do you say?"

"If you believe this beacon will work, then we may was well try it first. I will be traveling through the Emerald Graves to answer Fairbanks' inquiry, but if you require any assistance..."

"I can lend a hand," Cullen interrupted.

"That works as well," the Inquisitor barely even blinked from the commander throwing himself forward.

Lana nodded. If this worked, she'd finally have her answers. She'd finally know what happened to all her wardens, the ones she recruited, trained, commanded, befriended. Vigil's Keep provided no clue to their disappearance, but this might. Lana flicked the pin with her finger and said, "I need to get to Redcliffe."


	4. Chapter 4

It stung less than she expected. Spring's thaw muddied the ground making traveling unpleasant; but the warm air, chirping birds, and fresh energy made up for the water weeping into her boots. She wrapped her hands around herself, a chill off the lake curling through her thin cloak. It wasn't really a lake, not an official one, and not on any maps. More an overgrown pond with lofty ambitions, at least that was how Alistair described it to her. They'd slipped away from the campsite and especially away from the others so he could show it to her. It was one of his favorite spots when he was a boy. He'd even tried to carve his name into a tree beside the watery edge. Her fingers drifted across the _ALIS_ embedded in the wood. He wasn't good at finishing things.

Lana heard the sound of armored boots squelching in mud and metal clanging together keep the wearer upright. She turned from her vantage point to gaze off the cliff at the sound's source below. It was only a day and half before she heard an answer back from one of the beacons. One of her wardens accepted her meeting and they'd set the date for as soon as possible. Using this lake was her way of ensuring it was one of hers, very few knew its exact location. She said she'd go alone, but...Lana sighed, watching the blonde head bobbing along the marshland that was once forest. Someone wouldn't let her.

"I'm up here," she called to Cullen. His head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes against the afternoon sun. The watery sounds, like custard dropped in hose and slapped against the wall, followed his footsteps as he struggled up the grassy hill. The soldiers followed close on his heels, but none seemed particularly happy about Lana's spot.

As he reached the rocky edge his fingers flattened against the nearly unscalable cliff. Lana dropped to her knees and extended a hand to him. He gripped tight despite the wet gloves and together she hauled him up the crystal surface of the lake. The area was hidden atop a cliff that seemed insurmountable unless you knew about the secret path. Even then, one needed a bit of climbing equipment or a good jump to get up there. Alistair had wedged some of Zevran's old daggers into the rock for leverage when he first showed her. The assassin took the news rather well while twisting around his bent blades. He only hid four frogs in Alistair's bedroll as retribution. This time Lana used magic to assist her.

"I thought clandestine meetings were held in the depths of night," Cullen grumbled as he squinted at her through the burning rays. He'd tossed off that furry surcoat of his, but the piles of metal did no one any favors in the rising heat.

"Not enjoying the return of summer?" Lana asked, grateful to be in her messenger outfit. The linen against her arms breathed better than any leather would.

"Summer is fine, but to come from the mountain into this warmth takes a bit of adjusting."

Lana extended her hand towards the lake, "There's water to cool off. Just strip off your armor and dive in." The moment the words left her, she frowned at her impetuous tongue. Sweet Andraste, no. Do not start this again!

"That, uh..." He blinked against the offending light of the sun and glared at the still surface of the pond. "I am good, fine, it's not an issue." Shaking his head, he turned his wrath upon the two soldiers still below. "Cobby! Nollins!" That must have been the two soldiers' names as they both whipped their heads up at the commander and saluted. "No, don't bloody waste time...get up here."

"Right, Ser. We, uh, we're not sure how precisely," one of the soldiers called out.

Cullen's dumbstruck face was priceless. "You climb," he sneered down at them and then shook his head at Lana.

"You brought them," she whispered to him.

"Do not remind me," he added back. His breath warmed her cheek he spoke close so the soldiers wouldn't overhear the confidence their commander failed to have in them.

"We, well, see, Ser, if you be begging my pardon, it's just that..."

"What is it?" Cullen shouted at the stumbling pair.

The other spoke up, her voice gruff, "We don't have any rope."

"You don't need any," Cullen threw his arms up and tipped his head back to the sky. Lana saw him whispering what looked like either a part of the chant or a personal mantra that he couldn't murder every idiotic soldier under his command and hope to have an army remaining.

She took pity on him and shouted down to the soldiers, "There's a cave back behind the trees. If you follow it, it should lead to an incline up here."

Cullen's chin slipped down and he stared at her, "There is?"

"There wasn't before, I created it," she said then turned her eyes away from him, "I'm not very good at climbing either."

"Ah, Ser?" the gruff soldier called, her fingers splayed out against the rock to peer up at them. They weren't prepared to follow the strange new warden's orders.

"Yes, yes, go find the cave. And get up here," Cullen waved his hand dismissing the pair. They scattered off and Lana mentally calculated the chances of their finding her dissolved rock entrance versus the bear's den a few kilometers further in. She gave them 50:50 to be kind.

"You're without your staff," Cullen pointed out, gesturing to her empty hands.

She flexed her callused fingers and nodded, "I stopped carrying one outside of battle when the rebellion bubbled over into the streets. It drew more attention than I'd like from concerned citizens. So near Redcliffe I thought...I doubt I'll need it. This is a simple meeting, nothing more."

Cullen nodded but didn't look entirely convinced. It wasn't as if she needed a staff to defend herself. "How long until your warden friends show?"

She shook her head, "I have no idea. Our system isn't that sophisticated." Colored light and a series of numbered explosions didn't lend one the ability to burn sonnets across the skies of Ferelden. It was the best they could whip up. It might be crude, but it worked.

"Right," Cullen sighed. His fingers knotted around the pommel of his sword but he seemed to shake off the stress of command. Shoulders slipping down out of the overburdened hunch, a calm replaced his eternal frown. Even his worry lines faded away. "Beautiful place," he remarked. Lana flinched and glanced towards the cliff's edge. She'd had all of Ferelden to use and she chose here. Why? The excuse that it was secret only held up to those who didn't know her. She was aware of another twenty places better hidden and easier to fortify without soldiers stumbling through possible bear caves to find it. But she picked this lake, as beautifully painful as it was. The memories weren't as haunting as they'd once been, the old scar upon her heart nearly healed shut, but if she closed her eyes she could still smell the scent of a rose on the wind.

"Lana?"

She whipped her head around to try to dislodge the past and turned to him. They'd remained friendly but distant in the past days, only seeing each other for map room meetings and the occasional dinner. Hawke spoke more with the Commander than Lana did but that was true for everyone with Hawke. Her cousin could charm a dragon, then kill it. Lana kept her relationship with Cullen professional and at an arm's length, bundling away all memories of those few days they shared in the deep roads. But now her legs melted like sugar in rain from the way he looked at her. The tenderness in those brown eyes flipped her heart upside down and she bit down a gasp to turn it into an, "Um huh?"

"This calling of yours..." he began and Lana threw her arms up. She was so tired of talking about it with Leliana, with the polite but serious Inquisitor, even Hawke tossed a few lines in every now and again. Yes, the Calling, it will kill her. What makes her a grey warden is also what will end her, whether she likes it or not. It's not as if she could change it now! Cullen touched her arm and she turned from her tantrum to face him. "You said it's fatal."

"It is, sort of. Might as well be anyway," she said. Her eyes danced away from his to bore into the pond. A frog rose to the surface, bubbles blowing from its nose as it released a held breath.

His finger circled against the fabric of her shirt where he held her, lightly tracing her arm in comfort. "Does it cause you any pain?"

"No," Lana smiled bittersweetly, "not anymore. The joining was...not much fun, but slipping into the calling is more like giving into exhaustion at the end of the day. The long sleep, I guess."

"Then why did you collapse in the war room?" His eyes wandered over her face, from her eyes down to her lips and back. She wondered if it was some trick to tell if she was lying or if he...no, it was silly to contemplate.

"I'm surprised," Lana said, shaking her head. "You're the first to ask that. I thought for sure Leliana would inquire, but maybe she sussed it out on her own. Is there anything, any secret, she doesn't know now?"

"I try to not think about it," Cullen admitted and Lana smirked.

"It was poison, leftover in my system from the warden attack on the way to Orlais."

"Poison? Maker! Lana, do you need a healer?"

"I am a healer," she said lifting her free arm and drawing forth the power of the spirits. "It's not a big deal. I could keep it at bay and work it out of my system on my own as long as I was concentrating or not exhausted." Or in near shock at seeing an old lover standing before her.

Cullen leaned closer to her, his personal musk overpowering the floral scent in the air. She remembered it well, almost earthy and comforting, like a warm blanket on a wintery evening. She wore it upon her skin for a few days after they left the deep roads. "You could have told one of us, any of us."

Lana shrugged. "It was my fault. I'd been slacking off on taking doses to build up my resistance. It'd been a few years since anyone tried to actively kill me outside of combat and I grew sloppy. I..." Her words faded from the shock puckering up his lips. It drew her attention to the scar bisecting up his mouth and through the patch of stubble that would never make a mustache. "I can handle it, it's nearly out of my system."

"Nearly?" Cullen shook his head and sighed. He still held her arm tight in his own hand and didn't seem about to let go, "You don't have to do everything alone."

"I..." It wasn't stubbornness that held her tongue but an excessive gathering of facts. Every time, every moment she let her guard down and tried to bring someone into her life it backfired spectacularly. And yet she kept trying, kept hoping that one day it'd all work out for her. She'd lived upon the dream of hope for so long she woke one day to find her soul malnourished. "I'll be fine," she cut off his concern and dropped her arm. Cullen's fingers opened to release her and he reached back for his sword. "I've been through worse." She turned away to gaze at what should be her little cave exit and considered the conversation closed.

A faint breeze slicked back the sweat percolating on her brow, the crisp air smelling of snow. Perhaps winter wasn't quite finished after all. Cullen sighed beside her, his nails prodding at the leather pommel, "You say that as if it's a badge of honor."

She swallowed and turned to him. His eyes focused a thousand miles away down into the depths of the earth. Lana pinched her eyebrows together in thought and in a stripped voice said, "I say it because it's true." Her fingers drifted across his arm, smudging up the polished armor. A palm print of hers fogged up his vambrace. Cullen turned and reached for her fingers.

Boots squelching through muddy waters drew both their attention. Lana slid away while attempting to tap into the fade energy that percolated through this place greater than much of Ferelden. Okay, she had one good reason to use the pond. Cullen rolled his fingers around the grip of his sword and squared his shoulders back. Three figures pushed aside the vines dangling over the cave entrance. Two wore the blue and silver armor of the grey wardens, the griffin still prominent upon their chests, but the last was dressed in black and green splint mail with a heartwood bow strapped across his back.

Lana splashed through the overrun pond towards him before he even saw her, "Nathaniel?" Steel eyes snapped up at her, and then that dour frown lifted in a smile.

"Warden Commander," he said tipping his head to the side. He still wore those same braids in his dark hair, though grey strands threaded through them. Mud and wear sundered his armor, and his face was marked with grit from the road. But the stern faded to the best smile Nathaniel could ever manage as he gazed at her, "I hoped it was you activating the old beacons."

Lana squelched through the mud towards him. "Nathaniel, I..." she paused before him and held out her hand. He caught it and gripped her along the forearm, his fingers twisting it in the friendly greeting of checking for weapons. She did the same. Then he pulled her close into a half hug, his battered armor crushing against her chest. As she broke away, she glanced at the two wardens behind him but couldn't place the faces. They were both human - one male, one female - and both well armed. Not unheard of for wardens, but...Lana shook her head. This was Nathaniel here, it was better than she could have hoped for a random roll of the die. She turned back to her old friend, her voice lowering to her command presence, "What happened to the wardens? I returned to Vigil's Keep and there was no sign of any remaining. No one knew where you went or why. As if you all just vanished."

Nathaniel's eyes glanced over at Cullen and Lana followed suit. The commander looked as relaxed as a razorback, but he hadn't drawn his blade yet. "I am afraid in your absence you missed out on a game changer, Commander. The greatest discovery the wardens have made in an age. Perhaps since the order even began."

Lana glanced back at Cullen, then to Nathaniel. A warning crawled up her back, but she kept her hands flat against her thighs. "A discovery? Of what? Is this about a talking darkspawn?"

"No, no, so much better than that," Nathaniel shook his head, and then it struck Lana. He hadn't stopped smiling, the grin plastered on since he spotted her. That was not the Nathaniel Howe she knew, the Nathaniel she's conscripted all those years ago. A man who could glower through his own birthday party. A few (Oghren) used to float the theory that even sex couldn't knock off that Howe frown. She never encouraged the joking rumors despite suspecting they were probably accurate.

Lana began to slide back through the mud on the balls of her feet, but Nathaniel jerked forward. It appeared innocuous enough, but it stopped her. She watched his body, but he looked relaxed and unconcerned, his fingers caressing his bow while the other dangled at his side. The other wardens still stood silent behind him. "Explain it to me, why you would leave everything. Tell me what it is. What you've found, whatever it is you're working towards. Please, Nathaniel. We've been through too much."

He bobbed his head, a pang hollowing his cheeks as it crossed him face. "You...you're not supposed to be here. You weren't meant for this, for them." Nathaniel glanced back at the commander of the Inquisition glowering back. "The Western Approach. That's where everyone's gathering, everyone who could be of use. And the use someone like you could be..." Nathaniel's hand lashed out to grab onto hers as if mocking their earlier greeting. His fingers dug into her forearm, the chewed nails ripping into her skin and locking tight so she couldn't escape his grip.

"What are you doing?" Lana asked while trying to pull away. She tried to keep calm, needed to be calm to get through whatever fog had him. If she just had some time, she knew she could break it. Behind her she heard the sound of steel drawing from the scabbard. No, that wasn't how this was going to go. There had to be a way. These were her people.

Nathaniel yanked her closer to him, her chest bouncing against his shoulder from the force. He whispered in her ear, "You missed it, Commander. I'm sorry." Pain shattered through Lana's stomach and she broke away from the mad man's eyes to discover a dagger jammed below her ribcage. Nathaniel's hand guided it in, her blood dripping from the wound across his once noble fingers. White hot pain shredded through every muscle in her chest as her once second in command twisted the blade deeper. A red haze circled around her vision. Summoning her mana through the pain, Lana blast an icy force against Nathaniel and the other wardens. His hand slipped off hers and the dagger as his body flew through the air trailed by shards of ice. But the damn man was agile, and he twisted into the flip to landed on his feet. Water splattered against his eyes from the force, which quickly froze from Lana's spell. The other wardens were struck with the cold, both of them tumbling to the ground like rag dolls, but they didn't even blink as the frost of the lake crusted over their faces. Makers sake, what were they?

Now Nathaniel slipped off his bow and notched an arrow. Lana threw up a barrier with her right hand while trying to hold the dagger with her left. Breathing dug the blade in deeper, slicing apart her insides and clawing more searing pain across half her body. The red haze increased, narrowing her vision. Her ears hummed from the blood pounding through her beating heart and sliding down the dagger across her palm. If the ringing increased, she knew the threat of blood-loss dragging her down to the abyss. She tried to slide back through the water as an arrow struck into her barrier. It hung suspended in thin air before the undulations of the energy faltered and it splashed to the ground. The agony ripping apart her flesh chewed through her focus, her barrier twisting below her hand. She was always shit at them.

One of the backup wardens drew daggers and came for her, but Lana sneered at the attempt and blasted the woman with an ice fist thick enough to crack open a skull. She dodged, but not fast enough as the ice shattered her in the shoulder sending one dagger flying. The splintering bone sound echoed across the pond. Unfortunately, that spell drew her attention away from the barrier, leaving Lana exposed. Her eyes whipped back in time to watch Nathaniel draw his bow. His thumb quivered for a heartbeat against his cheek. Was it regret bubbling to the surface or could she hope still to find him? He released his grip sending the arrow for Lana's exposed shoulder. She gritted her teeth, prepared to take the hit, when a shield snapped in front of her taking the blow of the arrow. The momentum caused it to smash into Lana's chest, but she could deal with bruises over an arrow.

Cullen yanked his shield off her and raised his sword at the third player in the game. They met blow for blow, the warden nowhere near as skilled. Darkspawn didn't train every morning the way the commander did, and wardens weren't used to facing a talented foe. Lana rolled the water up from beneath her feet, spinning it into a vortex nearly ten feet tall. Each twist froze it solid. Hardened to a point, she lifted the ice spear into the air and drove it at the female warden. The woman rolled away, her knees skittering through the pond, but as the massive ice spear impacted against the ground, shards shattered into her eyes.

"It takes the warden commander thirty seconds to recharge her mana after a spell like that," Nathaniel cooly called from his vantage point. "Attack now!"

Lana whipped around at him, her fingers still clinging to the dagger he tried to kill her with. He wasn't about to show mercy now, and with Cullen embroiled with the other warrior no one was going to pop out with a shield for her. Aiming for her head, his steel eyes cut through her without concern or care. She was nothing more than a target dummy to him now. Lana sighted down the arrow back to Nathaniel's eye. There was nothing she could reach, nothing human remaining in them as he released his grip.

Drawing upon her hidden reserves, Lana raised up her barrier. Sticky hot blood gushed out of her wound from the struggle, the red haze twisting to a hot white as her ears peeled like chantry bells. She screwed her face up tight, unable to watch death from her old friend. When she opened her eyes, she found the arrow dangling an inch from her face. She willed herself to stare past it and shout at Nathaniel, "You do not know me as well as you think you do."

"I know you cannot kill me. You couldn't before we even knew each other. Before you left me in charge of the Keep and the wardens, your people, during your many, many absences," he gloated. Nathaniel Howe gloated. Whoever and whatever this person was, Nathaniel was long gone. Either buried in the depths of his own mind or worse...

On her periphery she watched the female warden jump to her feet, blood pouring from her eyes. She blinked through the ice shards embedded in her eye sockets but wasn't backing down. Cullen hacked into the other warden's leg, but the man limped through the wound that would down most others. These weren't people, they were golems made of flesh. They didn't feel pain, didn't slow unless fully stopped. Lana reached her hand out and grabbed onto Cullen's hand.

"What are you doing?" he shouted as she dragged him away from his prey.

"Hold and don't let go!" she ordered. Releasing her grip on the dagger, Lana summoned every last ounce of mana from her withering pool. She glanced once more at Nathaniel who was notching another arrow. Her Nathaniel, the man who - against all the odds from their start - became one of the best men she'd ever had the luck to serve with. Forgive me.

Gripping tighter to Cullen to keep him shielded with her, Lana poured every drop of lightning in her body directly into the water beneath her feet. Sparks shattered across the surface of the lake, leaping like dragonflies upon the lake in pursuit of food. Purple energy wrapped up through every body not connected to the mage, the power bursting through their insides and slowly cooking them. They struggled to scream, but the lightning twisted and warped their bodies, their tongues swelling and unable to speak, vocal cords popping from energy yanking their flesh apart. She didn't look up, couldn't, just kept the flow of energy from her hand into the ground. The wardens splashed in the throes of pain, but it wasn't until the final sparks sputtered out of her hand that she heard three bodies plummet into the water. Nothing more moved save the soft wind sweeping back her hair.

She did it. She killed them. Killed wardens. Killed her wardens. Her fingers shook, still extended to the watery end as if she had any mana left to cast. He made her do it, gave her no choice. She wanted to find a solution, to save them all, had believed there was a way, but now... Lana released her grip on Cullen, the man fallen silent from the death around them. She stomped towards Nathaniel's corpse. From the fall he crumpled onto his knees as if in prayer, his hands dangling at the sides begging for mercy from the Maker. But his head was tossed back, gazing endlessly upon the scarred sky. The flesh upon his face was charred and blackened from her lightning bolt, the skin crackling like a pig roast, while flames licked upon that braided hair. Because she did it. She killed him.

"Damn you!" Lana screamed at him. "How could you? Why didn't you wait for me to return?! What could have possibly pushed you to do this? To turn against...Maker, take you all!" She tried to reach for him, whether to shake the body or try to close the eyes boiled in the sockets she was uncertain. But the knife chewed up her side, the pain shooting anew through her not deadened nerves. Bending low was impossible.

Instead, she kicked her boot through the water, splashing up Nathaniel's side. His skin hissed from the cold splattering against the charred remains. "What am I supposed to tell your sister? Your nephew?!" Lana wrapped her fingers along the dagger's grip, trying to steady it. The wise thing, the proper thing, was to keep it in place until someone was there to bandage and clean the wound. Leaving it in cut off the blood to a dribble from her wound. She tipped her head back to the sky, blinking against the rage of tears burning in her eyes. Sighing to the wind, she whispered, "I trusted you. Why didn't you wait?" Lana yanked the blade out of her side. Blood poured from the gash blooming across her tunic and up through the vest until it dripped to the pond. If it weren't for the dragon scale armor beneath her traveling clothes, she'd be in far worse shape. Probably even dead.

Raising the dagger to her face, Lana was about to toss it into the pond when a symbol on the pommel caught her eye. It was the grey warden griffin but flanked by the Ferelden dogs. One of Master Wade's works from their dark early days in Amaranthine. She'd had this blade forged specifically for Nathaniel. A shudder shook through Lana's body and she lurched forward about to plummet into the pond.

An arm wrapped around her shoulder holding her upright in this cruel and unforgiving world. Cullen pulled her tighter, his arm folding fully around her into a hug. Still holding onto the dagger, Lana knotted her forearm up around his. Her other hand crept to her wound, trying to slow the blood that saturated her clothing and now dripped into the pond. Scarlett trailed through the pond, like little ribbons twisting in the water. "I failed them," she gurgled through a spray of tears. "Every damn one of them."

Cullen didn't speak a word, only gripped tighter to her. She couldn't see his eyes as he faced behind her, but his cheek pressed against the top of her head. How could she face any of them ever again? How could she wake knowing that it was her selfishness that put her wardens in Corypheus's path? The dagger slipped from Lana's fingers as she dug into Cullen's arm. She pinched tight below the metal vambraces needing to anchor herself to something real, something that couldn't be yanked out from under her with a whim. He didn't yelp or shrug her off. He only held her tighter.

"Ser! We heard the play of magic and came as soon as..." Nobby and/or Collins' shouts tumbled to a halt at the sight of their commanding officer clinging to a bereft warden, her own sobs gurgling with cries of pain. Lana couldn't see them but she felt Cullen stiffen below her fingers.

"The warden is injured," Cullen ordered, his voice emotionless, "Return to camp, fetch a healer! And someone else to take care of the bodies."

"I, uh..." the pair stuttered, bouncing around in the water to get a good view.

"Now!" Every ounce of his wrath burst into that one word. Both soldiers all but yelped, scurrying away fast. They took the quicker path down to the hinterlands by leaping from the cliff's edge.

"We're all right, Ser!" one of them shouted up. "Off to find that healer now."

Lana would have laughed from their incompetent determination but her brain was numb. Even the feel of her own hot blood trickling through her fingers meant nothing. If Nathaniel was turned, then...then they all were. Ten years, a decade spent building up the wardens, her wardens, and for what? What was the point of it? What was the point of her?

"Lana," Cullen whispered her name as he pulled her tighter to him. His stubble scratched up her cheek.

"It's my fault." Her lip wobbled from a hundred tears crashing in her heart, a thousand cuts to her skin deeper than any dagger could reach. "I failed them, I turned my back on them. I did it."

She heard Cullen cough to bite back his own emotional purge. He wrapped his arm closer to her and whispered, "You're hurt."

Her fingers stretched against her side, but she didn't dip into her filling mana to fix the wound. Would the spirit even come to her now? Would they trust her knowing what she was? "It doesn't matter," she said, true defeat overflowing off her.

"It does to me," Cullen hissed beside her ear anger pummeling every syllable. But it broke as fast as it rose to be replaced by a heartbreaking sorrow. "Please," his breath shuddered, "heal yourself."

Lana didn't answer him but the powers of the fade cracked below her hand. She blinked through the never ending tears while stitching up the wound in her side left by Nathaniel. Maker only knew what would stitch up the one in her soul.


	5. Chapter 5

Lana sucked in a steadying breath as she attempted to drop the tiny screw into place, unfortunately that tugged upon the wound on her side. The tweezers slipped from her fingers and clattered to the desk, sending the screw rolling across the polished wood. Pain walloped the left of her body, but the throb was dulled from bone shattering thanks to a bit of time and her own personal poultice recipe. It wasn't as potent as she'd like due to Skyhold's surprising lack of elfroot, but she made due with it and a bit of help from the fade. She lifted up the hem of her nightshirt to inspect the bandage but no blood pooled into it. Without having any proper clothing while on the run from the wardens she wore the borrowed tunic from Cullen. Despite the deep neck, it reached to the tops of her thighs and was softer than the fanciest underthings in Orlais. It also helped how much it yet smelled of him.

After being banished to her not-state room for rest and recuperation, Lana lasted all of an hour in bed alone before she had to get up to do something. Her traitorous thoughts trailed her every move, the memories unwilling to shake free no matter how far she ran from them. The shock of what happened wore to a nub when she limped to the Inquisition camp near Redcliffe. Cullen finally released his hold upon her as the healer patched her up, but she felt his eyes scouring over her from the side. Lana couldn't lift her head to face him, to admit to herself what she'd done. Burrowing under a nest of shock was preferable to the blame threatening to crush her chest. After that it was a long wagon ride up the mountain to Skyhold with more than a few guards being extra watchful. The commander remained behind to take care of things, but she knew his word traveled with her. People were quick to offer help to the stabbed woman and never leave her alone. Leliana greeted her, doing her best to downplay what occurred, but Lana shook off her ignorance. They needed a plan, they needed to find a way to cut back at the monster who did this to the wardens. To her people. She'd stewed about it the entire trip, but Leliana wouldn't have any of it. During all of Lana's attempts at bringing up Corypheus, Leliana shifted to innocuous topics - or worse - memories of old times. Memories were what Lana was trying to avoid.

Digging her palms into her forehead, Lana glared at the mechanical device blasted apart across her desk. Golden gears and silver screws rattled across scraps of metal molded into six squares of varying size. It looked as if someone cracked the gilded mechanical box in half and dumped all the innards out. Which was in a round about way what she'd done, but with a bit more precision than applying a hammer. She reached for the cup of tea Leliana refreshed before returning to her spymaster duties. Placing the edge to her lips, Lana tipped ice cold water into her mouth. Shaking her head to clear the bitter, frozen tea, she cupped her hand under the mug and pulled the power of fire through the fade. After a moment the nearly blackened tea boiled. She smiled from the simple spell when a knock broke against her door.

"Enter," Lana called while placing the cup down to cool. Without looking up she said, "But if you've come to play 'the worst ever' again, I should warn you I have in fact seen the Duke of Jader's underthings and I'd prefer to not...not, uh..." Her words drifted away as she stared up at the commander and not Leliana filling the doorway.

He cocked his head to the side, but his face was stern and unbending, as unreadable as a stone. Weary and coated in red dust, he was still without his furred surcoat. Behind him, the last vestiges of the sun crested over Skyhold's garden. "I wanted to see if you were all right," Cullen said knocking into his sword.

Lana dipped her head down and waved him in, "Please, come in. You don't have to stand in the door."

He nodded primly, but she swore she caught a smile as he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. "Do I wish to ask about...?"

"No!" Lana interrupted, knowing what flitted through his mind. She twisted in her chair to face him but didn't rise. Standing was still tricky. "It is a very..."

"Long story?" he said, a whisper of a smirk lightening his face.

"I was going to say disgusting tale. If the Duke of Jader asks if you've seen a pink dragon answer yes and walk away."

Cullen bobbed his head and swallowed, his eyes dancing back and forth to try and piece together what that meant. "I..." his fingers knocked about that sword while his brain struggled to find the words, "I wanted to see-"

"If I was all right?"

Cullen grimaced, "And I said that already. Your wound was not as deep as I'd feared, though it must have been painful."

"Stab wounds typically are," she smiled softy.

"Ah yes," Cullen sneered at himself. His eyes lifted to her and his face washed to concern, "But there was...what happened with the wardens-" Now it was Lana's turn to grimace as her happy facade cracked. She was no player of the game the way Leliana was, but she knew how to put on the show when it was necessary. No one wanted to see their leader scared, no one needed to see her break down, and no one wished to see her human. She'd cried, of course, but the tears silenced so abruptly when she willed it there was almost no balm in their falling. Sometimes she wondered if the decade of playing the stoic leader had leadened her heart to stone.

Lana twisted her forefinger around her other hand's middle finger. With each thought she gripped tighter, strangling her own fingers. What was there to say about the wardens? They wanted her dead, needed her dead. All of them. Even hers...

"Nathaniel," Lana began, her eyes boring past the commander as she took herself back to those first says at Amaranthine, "he was...very set in his ways. Determined I think is the nice way to say it. When we first met he was in a jail cell, caught for breaking into the keep and plotting to kill me." She laughed at his stubborn insistence he'd rather hang than be conscripted.

Cullen gasped, then paused at her laugh, "Does that...happen often with wardens?"

Lana shrugged, "It was only fair, I did kill his father." She stared down at her hands. Red welts rose off the fingers twisted together, and she glared at them. So much killing in her past; it seemed all she was good for anymore. Licking her lips, she continued her story, "He was the third person I ever conscripted into the wardens and he hated it. Hated that I made him do it, that I didn't kill him on the spot. Hated having to follow my orders, and yet, he'd do it. Snicker, and mumble under his breath, but he'd listen. Best damn archer I had, and a hell of a tactician when he'd speak up." Lana paused and giggled from the memory, "He was so soft spoken and sure footed, Oghren threatened to hang a bell off his neck. I never expected him to come around. I needed wardens, that was all there was to it, but over time we formed a...a friendship of sorts."

A hand gripped onto her murderous fingers and she glanced up at Cullen. "You cared for him."

"I cared for all of them. They were my people, my wardens. Forty three people given the joining, pulled into the fold, cursed with this taint. I trained them, I watched them, I encouraged them, I broke them, I built them up. And I...I failed them all," she tried to turn away to face the desk, but Cullen held her tight.

"Lana, that was Corypheus' work, not yours."

She mashed her lips together, staring at their intertwined hands. Blinking back a tear she looked up at the man who hadn't ordered her to come to grips with reality, only held her against the tidal wave of anger and regret. "Kirkwall was Meredith's work, not yours." She didn't mean for it to sting, only to explain what was in her mind, but he reared back as if she hit him. His hand slipped away from her and she reached out clutching it even tighter in her fingers. "I wasn't there for them when he came, when he took them away. They were mine, my duty, my world and I abandoned them." He stared above her as she spoke but didn't struggle to pull his hand away. The glove was softer than she expected, already showing wear on the pads of his palm where the grip of the sword would fit inside.

"I'd leave Vigil's Keep from time to time, to deal with missions, answer summons..."

"Travel through the deep roads with a hired templar," Cullen said. His eyes still gazed through the wall, but his face softened from the memory. Maker, how was that simpler times for them?

Lana smiled as well, her voice reflecting it, "All of it was for the wardens. To protect the world from the threat of blight. But I traveled to Seheron for...personal reasons."

"Seheron?" Cullen interrupted, his eyes finally snapping to her, but Lana looked away. There were many things in her life she felt she could tell him about, but not this. Not yet. Thinking about what happened between her and...it still turned her stomach.

"It began in Antiva but led to Tevinter, then Seheron. Assassins, evil magisters, qunari, blood magic. The usual suspects," she joked shrugging her shoulder. It popped out of the neck of her shirt, dragging the collar to the side. Cullen glanced at the spare flesh on display from her movements, but turned to look at her hands instead. Lana continued, "And when I returned, they were gone. Every warden, every one of them was gone. I had no idea where, no starting point to try and find them. It was as if they simply vanished. I..." She paused, swallowing down the full truth and began again, "I'd hoped to find them in the middle of this crisis. To discover they were hiding, planning to hit back against Corypheus, or...Maker, anything but that." She gasped as the image of Nathaniel rose up into her mind. Of his fingers digging into her arm deep enough to leave welts, his other hand driving the knife through her flesh and the look in his eyes. They weren't the blank stare of the puppet of a blood mage; his eyes glittered with some mad purpose.

Cullen dropped to a knee, his scabbard banging against the floor. He tried to get Lana's attention, but she couldn't raise her head, couldn't look at him. Gently, he caressed her cheek, his thumb hooking under her jawline. Together they lifted her face. His thumbs wiped at the tears she didn't notice she was crying. "I am so sorry," he said, punctuating each word with a breath.

"It's my fault," she shook her head, trying to break away.

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is," she argued back, needing to feel the lash against her skin. There was no one left in the order to punish her for this, so she had to do it herself.

"Lana, I know you don't want to hear this now, and it'll probably only make things worse, but I need to say it. You can't predict every outcome of your decisions. Whatever drove you to Seheron, there was a reason for it. And if you'd stayed behind, if you'd been in Amaranthine, he..." Cullen struggled as he leaned back to stare down at his other hand still wrapped around hers, "he could have taken you too."

"Cullen, I..." she almost cracked from the heartache pouring out of him.

"You're not alone in wishing to wallow in blame," his voice fluttered away as his fingers rubbed hers. Then he snapped up, "But you deserve better than what Corypheus did to you, to your people." His nose flared and he dared her to challenge his assessment. She could see in his eyes that he had a thousand counterarguments, a million different ways to prove she was worthy.

Smiling crookedly, Lana bumped her bare shoulder into him, "No 'For the good of the team' speech? What about the old 'We're gonna get this bastard' one?"

Cullen snorted, "We will get that bastard, I promise. But...I didn't think you'd want a speech."

"Probably wouldn't have worked anyway. I've given so many I think I'm immune," she chuckled. Cullen rose from his knees, his fingers falling away from her face, but he still held her hands.

"What about 'I want you to go out there and give me 110%?'" he asked.

Lana laughed at that, "Maker, I hate that one."

"Me too," he smiled back. His fingers drifted off her hands to the rolled cuffs of her tunic. "You're still wearing this?" he asked.

"Oh," Lana shook her head, feeling a fool, "you probably wanted it back. Of course. I didn't have any other sleeping attire and..."

"It's all right," he said while rolling back the cuff. His fingers drifted across her thin wrist caressing her skin as if writing a secret message upon her body before he pulled them back. "Technically, it is yours."

"Mine?"

"This was the, uh, the tunic you left me so I wouldn't have to approach the gallows 'bare assed.'"

Lana picked up the hem of the shirt and perused it. The color was so faded it was impossible to make out, but then she spotted the sign. The grey wardens had a particular stitch they used for their clothing, a sort of under/over that ensured anything stolen would be easily recovered for proper inventory. How'd she miss that? "It's so worn, I...I couldn't tell from the color," she said.

Cullen grimaced, "I wore it often, perhaps too much and it faded in the sun. I needed something other than the uniform. After Kirkwall, I...turned my back on the order." His fingers picked at the hem of his shirt, "It helped to know there was something out there besides the templars." Lana glanced up into his golden eyes soft with memories. She ached to wrap her fingers in his hair and pull his lips to hers. Instead, she rubbed at her own eye, catching Cullen's attention.

"What do we know about the Western Approach?" she asked, then grimaced at using the commanding we. Some things are never forgotten. "Leliana wouldn't talk about any of it. She's wrapped me under her big sister wing until I heal."

"I...uh," Cullen glanced back at the door, "am uncertain if I should go against her wishes."

Lana chuckled and rose from her chair. The blood rushed to her ill used legs, but the ache in her side only throbbed once before falling back asleep. Improvement. "I can assure you, Leliana is not all knowing. And I promise, I will keep it to myself." Lana twisted her lips with her fingers and threw away the invisible key.

Nodding, Cullen smiled, "As you wish, but I will still sleep with one eye open for a few nights." He winked at her in conspiracy, and Lana felt all blood drain from her legs again. "Agents are tracking some movement in the western approach, but most of it appears to be bandits. There is talk though of noises out of some of the ruins in the sands."

"Noises?" Lana squared up her shoulders before him.

"Could be nothing, it's hard to say. Do you have any theories on what the wardens would be doing out west?" His eyes darted over her face watching to see if she was about to break, but Lana was made of sterner stuff. Now that she had a problem to tackle, that infectious curiosity rose.

"No, well...maybe. There's an old warden fortress out there, leftover from the...ah, I can't remember which blight. Abandoned. Last I knew, the circle mages were using it before the rebellion for some research. Regardless, whatever they're doing they need wardens alive, possibly with an emphasis on mage wardens. It must be why Nathaniel originally intended to capture me."

"Capture?" Cullen reeled back.

"I believe that was his intention until you threw off the balance. After we showed our teeth he gave the orders to his men on how to take me down. He had to rethink his plans and try to end us both."

"He stabbed you, and was about to shoot an arrow through your shoulder before I stopped it. How does that condone capture?"

Lana shrugged, "I've survived worse."

"Stop that!" Cullen cursed, his eyes flaring in the weak firelight.

She stumbled, lost at the unexpected burst of anger, "Stop what?"

"What you keep doing when anyone shows concern, acting as if any injury to you is inconsequential. As if it doesn't matter that you are in pain."

His deadly tone caught her off guard. She told the truth to those who asked, and most took it as an "awe, the Warden Commander's being funny again, telling all those great war stories." No one ever objected to it.

"As long as I get the job done, it doesn't matter if..."

"I cannot stand it," Cullen shouted, rounding upon her. Exasperation caused his chest to rise, a fire burning deep in those amber eyes. His nose almost bumped into hers he stood so close. An endless hurt twisted up his face as he stared down at her, "The way you treat yourself as if you're expendable. It pains me to think you believe it."

"I..." Lana stared into his eyes hunting through her mind, trying to find the right words to convince her she was worthy. Arms length, it was the only way to maintain a shred of sanity in the ever testing world. That was her lot in life from the beginning. She thought it would change when she left the tower, that maybe she could let down her guard but that proved even more disastrous. Everyone needed her to act as a symbol, a protector, a pawn in their game. Here was the only damn man in all of thedas who wanted her as only herself instead of some living statue and she kept him just as distant as the rest.

"Maker's breath, I can't do this anymore," she cried in one quick sentence. Grabbing onto Cullen's now wavy hair, she pulled his lips to hers for the kiss she'd been craving since spotting him in the war room. He tasted even sweeter than she remembered, his lips softening as they pressed against hers. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, quietly inviting him to try the same. Cullen matched her craving, bending his back more to meet her hunger. With her barefoot the height difference was almost impossible, but neither was about to give up because of a few inches. His hands smoothed across her lower back, digging his tunic into her skin. As Lana sucked upon his bottom lip, his fingers dipped down below the tunic to cup her ass. Kneading each cheek, he yanked her higher until she stood on the tips of her toes, pulling her deeper into the kiss. But it wasn't quite enough.

Lana's fingers slipped out of his hair to grab behind his neck. With a leap, she jumped off the ground and knotted her legs around his waist. Cullen broke the kiss to steady himself from the unexpected weight of a mage wrapping around his body. She smiled mischief at him and he chuckled back. He pressed his lips back into hers, both of them giving in to every restrained urge they'd fought for years. His left arm slipped under her buttocks to keep her up while the right hand yanked up the tunic. Maker! She squirmed in his grasp savoring the strength in his arm holding her upright. How had she gone four years without his touch? Gentle but determined, certain but careful. Lana dug her legs into his hips, rising up higher. Crushing her breasts against his armor, she ignored the pain as every inch of her body flooded with the aching need for him. Cullen responded in kind, a moan rattling in this throat from her grinding deeper into him. She matched it as his fingers crawled up her bare skin, the leather of his gloves warm.

Suddenly, Cullen paused and he pulled away from the kiss. "Lana?" he whispered. She steadied herself for another one of those 'we can't do this' debates even with her legs wrapped around him.

"Yes?"

He brought his free hand to their eyes and swallowed at the crimson streaking down his glove, "You're bleeding."

Carefully, she dropped her legs to the ground with Cullen guiding her down. She yanked up her tunic to inspect the wound, exposing more of her skin than he'd managed, "I must have broken a stitch when I...uh, you know."

"Yes, I was there," Cullen deadpanned and she smiled.

"This will take a bit of time," Lana sighed and grabbed up a small towel off the desk. She pressed it into the wound causing pain to radiated up her side. "I'm sorry," she said, glancing up at Cullen.

He yanked off his bloody glove and tossed it to the desk as well as the other. Turning back to her, he smiled, "There's nothing to apologize for. I should not have pushed, given your injuries..." Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed, "I should leave you to rest."

"Don't go," Lana pleaded, her free hand grabbing onto his.

"Lana, you're not in a good shape to do...what I would really wish to," Cullen steadied his breath and placed his forehead against hers. "You're injured."

"I'm well aware of that, but I..." she glanced at the bed. One half was pristine with the sheets still crisp and folded, the other looked as if someone tried to hide five nugs under the covers. Only gone for a day and her cousin still managed to leave behind the messiest of beds without trying. "I don't want to be alone. Hawke's off doing something with Varric in Val Royeaux, and it's so quiet with just the calling in my head and..."

His lips pressed against her forehead, trailing off her thoughts, "Of course I'll stay. But you should lay down, it will help stop the bleeding."

Lana tried to not roll her eyes from the obvious advice. With one hand suckered to her side, she limped to the bed. Cullen guided her elbow as best he could, but she started to feel foolish as she laid upon the top of the covers. "I don't want to be any trouble," she began.

He unhooked the scabbard knotted across his hip and laid the sword upon the table. "You're not being trouble."

"If you have an army to run..."

Cullen paused in slipping off his boots and smiled at her, "They can run themselves for a few hours. Hopefully not into a wall, but anything's possible."

Lana laughed and then groaned as her broken wound wagged its finger at her. That was what she got for daring to enjoy herself. Cullen slipped into Hawke's side of the bed, then paused as his leg clanged against something under the covers. Yanking them back he unearthed a poker. Far too small to be used for a proper fireplace, it bore the relief of a roaring mouse on the handle.

"I am not going to ask."

"Probably for the best," Lana said. He placed the poker on the floor and stretched out on the bed beside her. Maker, she felt even more foolish having the commander of the Inquisition sitting with her as if she were a child, but...but she was so glad he was here. Cullen placed his hands behind his head, trying to maneuver beneath Lana's extended elbow without bumping it. She stared up at the ceiling which was lacking any foliage bursting through it, and tried to steady her breathing to calm the pain.

"I'm afraid I am uncertain what to say," Cullen said, breaking the silence.

"Isn't that always the way?" Lana chuckled then regretted it. She shifted on the bed to try and drain the pain away.

"If you could travel anywhere in thedas where would it be?"

"Is this one of those ice breaker questions which someone poses when surrounded by strangers while wishing they could be anywhere else?"

Cullen sighed, "If you have a better one, I am open to hearing it."

"No, no," Lana paused, struggling to find an answer, "I suppose I'd like to see Rivain."

"To find your ancestors?" Cullen asked.

Lana smiled, "My family's Marcher, I think. I never remembered much before the tower. No, there is a fascinating theory on thaumic energy and its transmogrification into potable kinetic that the Rivain mages use to power their devices. In theory, it should be under performing compared to the typical re-tread of potential, but they seem to have cracked the problem of excess discharge and maintained a full balance. I've wanted to study it, to see if its applications can be altered to..." Lana turned her head to see a smile splitting across Cullen's cheeks. "And I've already bored you."

"What?" he leaned his head up to stare into her eyes, "No. I...admit I don't know as much about magical theory as someone with your skills, but I enjoy hearing it from you. Missed hearing it from you." Cullen stretched his arm out and slipped it under Lana's head. She pressed into the muscles propping her up as he played with her hair. Fingers massaged her scalp and knotted her hair up more than usual. It was bliss.

"What of you, then? It's your game, you must have some place you've always wanted to see in thedas."

"I..." he blinked to bring up a thought, "I have a fascination with the steppes of the Anderfells."

Lana nodded, "Understandable. They're beautiful, but a pain in the ass to climb up."

"You've been?" Cullen twisted up on his side to look at her despite his hand still pinned under her head.

"Grey warden stuff," Lana swallowed back the burn the word dug up from her gut. This was supposed to be distracting her from all of that. "But the food is excellent. They have this dumpling where the dough is so much thinner than what's used here and there's a spiced meat mixture. I...I can't really explain it, but it's...Ah!" her elbow bumped into his waist causing her to put more pressure upon the wound.

"Here," Cullen reached over and pressed his own hand against the cloth. His palm cupped around her hip, the fingers dancing across her skin while his thumb plucked against the bone below. Maker, how she wanted to move those hands lower and more center of mass. To feel him massaging her inner thigh...

"You know," Lana said, trying to talk through the lust burning through her from his touch, "I've never seen the White Spire. Been to Val Royeaux a couple times, but never made it up there."

"Maybe I could take you some time," Cullen's voice dropped low, his breath whispering against her ear.

"Is it safe? I know the Inquisitor solved the whole rebellion, but I thought bandits had..."

"There's always later," he answered, his eyes boring into hers.

Lana smiled. She trailed her freed fingers along his jawline, "I'd like that."

"I...uh," her heat flushed along his face as his gaze hungered. "I'm not sure what to talk about next."

Her finger drifted along his slack lips and ran up the length of his new scar. She wanted to ask him about it but knew better. She had her own scars she'd never talk about. Cullen blinked from the contact, his body rigid as he maintained a careful balance beside her. So close to him, she could savor his personal musk, and now it struck her what was so different about him. How had she not noticed that change?

Her eyes closed, Lana asked, "How long's it been since you've gone without?"

"What? I...uh, gone without- What are you asking?" Cullen's flush switched to a full blush as his panicked eyes zipped around the room.

"Lyrium," Lana smiled. "What did you think I...oh," she blushed herself and stammered, "I didn't meant to ask, not that it's any of my, though I suppose it almost was. Ha!"

Cullen's thumb circled along her back, his fingers sliding across her bare skin as he re-positioned the towel. "How do you know I'm no longer taking lyrium? Did someone tell you?"

Lana touched her nose, "I can smell it. Templars always smelled different when you drank it, a metallic chemical burn."

"Oh, I didn't know." He folded back from her, "It's complicated, the reasons for it, for not taking it anymore..."

She gripped tighter to his jaw and tried to catch his sinking eyes, "Are you well?"

"Yes, as well as can be expected."

"Then that's all I need to know."

He smiled and dipped his head, "Thank you." Lana struggled up and caught his lips in a gentle kiss. She pulled back before it grew to anything hotter than what she'd dreamed of for her wound's sake. Cullen's fingers slid across her skin as she sat up along with the towel.

Inspecting the crimson stain upon it, he lightly touched her wound and found nothing fresh. "I believe it's stopped."

"I know," Lana smiled, "it did a few minutes after I laid down."

"Then why did I..."

"Because," she picked up his gentle hand in hers. Her thumb massaged the callouses along the pads of his palm. She bore nearly the same on her own hand from the staff. "I enjoyed the feel of you touching me."

Cullen gasped at her honest answer. He slipped down upon the pillow, his breath whispering beside her ear. "Would it be too forward of me if I say I enjoy touching you as well?"

"Only if you plan to never do it again," Lana smiled at him. She twisted to her side to face the wall and Cullen cupped his body around hers. His hand wrapped around her hip just below the wound and pulled her even tighter. To sleep while held in Cullen's arms, she'd never thought a thing was ever possible. And now, her body was buzzing too much to let her get anywhere close to rest.

"Well, commander of the Inquisition. That's a pretty big job there. How'd you stumble across it?"

"Cassandra approached me in Kirkwall," his heat washed over her, blanketing her in the first veil of safety she'd felt in over a year.

"Interesting. I've only heard bits and pieces about the right hand from the left. How about you tell me all about this Seeker of yours."


	6. Chapter 6

"Come with me," Hawke barreled into their shared room with determination on her face and a crown of flowers upon her head.

Lana turned away from her book and pointed at the floral arrangement, "What's with the flowers?"

"What flowers?" Hawke said with such confusion Lana feared she either imagined them or her cousin truly didn't know they were there. "Never mind, come on. Put down your book. That's all you've been doing for the past three days, squatting in this room reading."

"I believe I've been healing," Lana gestured to her stab wound that was now well on its way to being a nuisance scar that only throbbed when she sneezed. "And studying up on rift magic. I'm impressed despite the lack of circles how much research has already been eked out from them. It seems as if..."

"That's boring, you can't keep doing the boring stuff!" Hawke half collapsed in the doorway, her hands skimming across the ground like an exhausted child. "We should do something fun. Really fun too, not your little dancing bear fun."

"It wasn't a bear, it was a poorly sculpted dog, and it wasn't supposed to dance," Lana frowned while glancing at her once finished and then again obliterated device. Getting it right was proving more tricky than she expected. How did the tranquil make it look so easy?

"I'm bored, you're bored," Hawke whined some more.

"I'm not bored," Lana sniped back. After returning the next morning with enough books for Lana to collapse a library, Hawke resumed her duties of watching over the wounded and possibly dangerous mage. Unfortunately, Hawke was not made to be contained within four walls for very long. Lana encouraged her cousin to take long walks during the day before they murdered each other in their sleep. The commander stopped by on occasion, and almost always when Hawke was sitting in the corner trying to whittle a set of daggers out of a larger sword. This, of course, required the two of them to pretend he was merely checking on the rate of her recovery and to update her. Despite the constant chaperon, Cullen never came with a plan on what to drone on about. He managed to fight off the blush from the blunder, but his recitation of troop movements to the bemused grey warden did not help their cover story.

Only once did Cullen knock on the door when Hawke was on one of her 'you're wearing through the stone floor' walks. Even alone, they spoke of genteel topics and kept apart...for about three minutes. Cullen nearly jumped out of the window when Hawke dropped her latest haul from unguarded barrels right outside the door. The near close call kept them guarded and cautious, at least until Lana was well enough to resume her own duties away from her cousin.

Hawke's big brown eyes pleaded with the mage, "Please, I'll let you have all my pudding from dinner."

"You despise pudding," Lana sighed even as she shut her book. No matter how much she fought her cousin on principle, stretching her legs sounded nice. And it was unlikely to kill her now.

"All the more reason for you to eat it instead. Come on, I swear, you'll love it. All the best people will be there."

Lana paused in rising and snapped her head at Hawke. "People?"

Hawke slapped her hand against her mouth, "There I go giving away the surprise. Just grab your stick thing and let's go."

"My staff," Lana sighed, as if the Champion of Kirkwall didn't know the damn difference. She'd prefer to leave it safely stored away from whatever Hawke was planning but she needed it as a cane. Putting the weight of her left side against it, she limped towards the rack to grab her cloak.

"Nah nah, you won't be needing that," Hawke waved her hands away at Lana.

She was dressed more presentably than Cullen's tunic and bare legs, but her attire wasn't something she'd want to get caught in front of an entire tavern in. "You're certain of that?"

"Yes, just a couple people, it'll be no big deal. I promise. Come on," Hawke extended her arm and Lana took it. Despite being in the hold, Hawke still wore most of the Champion armor. She seemed particularly attached to the talon-like braces now frozen from the chill of night. Lana slipped her cuffs lower to shield her fingers from it and cursed herself for never getting into gloves. All the other mages were doing it.

"I know I shall regret this," Lana sighed, "but let's go."

"You'll love it, trust me," Hawke squealed.

* * *

She'd first anticipated a tavern, then the great hall. After that a back room in the kitchens or a visit up to Leliana's rookery. But Hawke yanked her across the battlements rimming Skyhold and kept opening the door to every closed room along the way. "Nope, nope, nope, sorry, nope," became a familiar refrain as she uncovered either ruins, offices, or surprised dignitaries in the middle of undressing.

After awhile, Lana suspected Hawke had no real plan in mind and used it as an excuse to get her out of the sick room. It seemed just as likely as anything else. Hawke seemed to operate on a string of bad luck that by the grace of the Maker turned good. Planning was not her strong suit. Opening a random door and expecting a party to fall out seemed within her wheelhouse, until her cousin finally opened door number 12. It was as dilapidated as the other rooms waiting to be spruced up. Broken beams and rotted wood were piled along the edges, and vines sprouted off the filthy stones, but someone installed a round table large enough to seat ten in the middle of the room. Chairs circled around it, all but two of them occupied.

"I got her!" Hawke shouted, drawing everyone away from their game of cards. A golden lantern twisted soft light upon the table, barely chasing away the shadows of night, but the man directly across from them flared up his fist with purple magic.

Dorian grinned wide, "Ah, excellent. We were afraid we'd have no new coffers to dip into for this round."

"Be careful what you wish for, Pavus," Leliana leaned in, the light flaring her red hair to an orange sunset. She'd shrugged off her hood for this meeting. "Lanny's sent many a man home crying."

"Not for want of trying, I hope," he smiled that infectious grin while Hawke released her hold upon Lana and stomped to the table.

Her cousin yanked back a chair beside Varric and fell onto the side of it. She propped one foot up on a barrel then slid her cards off the table into her hand. "Ah, this was all shit," Hawke cursed, throwing them back.

"It's not really bluffing if we all looked at your cards while you were out of the room," Varric chuckled to his old friend, then he turned his eyes to watch Lana place her staff against the doorway. "Snowflake. What'll ya be having? We have mead, and mead, piss pretending to be mead, and I believe Ruffles over there is savoring some vintage wine from Lord Flufflebutt's ancient cask bottled during the nug age."

Josephine choked a bit on her wine, then placed the glass down pristinely, "You are closer to the truth than you might imagine, Master Tethras."

"I am a connoisseur in the fine wines, madam," Varric said waving his hand dramatically in front of his exposed chest.

"You're a connoisseur in fine bullshit," Hawke cut back then bellowed a laugh. It was so powerful the table rattled, causing the betting pot to undulate as pieces skittered to the edges to fall off.

The Inquisitor turned to Lana while she slipped into the chair between him and Leliana. "Snowflake?"

"Hm?" Lana stretched her side to work out the knot and got a glance at Leliana's worried brow.

"Varric's charming nicknames for everyone," Dorian said directly across from her. "What does yours mean? That you have a frosty demeanor, or a particular fondness for winter? Perhaps you can blush white."

"I'm good at ice spells," Lana said rolling her fist just enough to coat it in her nick-namesake.

"I see he puts as much thought and effort into them as I suspected," Dorian chuckled.

"Hey, I try very hard to not try very hard at 'em," Varric harrumphed.

"At least you all get something, I'm stuck with Hawke."

"There's always waffles," Varric said. He gathered up the discarded cards from her and passed them to the Inquisitor.

"Right, because that one took well," Hawke rolled her eyes and grabbed up a mug. She sniffed it, took a drink, pulled a face, then took another one. Lana would be surprised that she kept going back but that was how Hawke drank everything.

"What game are we playing?" Lana asked. Sitting up primly, she dropped her hands on her lap as if she was attending to a duchess' tea instead of a backroom game of cards. "Diamondback?"

"You're aware of Diamondback, my lady?" Josephine asked blotting a droplet of crimson wine off her lip.

"Aware? She won the shirts off five pirates backs," Varric stirred up old memories better left dead and buried. "What'd you ever do with them anyway?" The Inquisitor cut the deck and passed out the cards. Lana used the distraction to gather each one into her hand and glare at them.

"It was an unfair advantage, they didn't understand the game," she said while shuffling her own hand around. Everyone picked up their cards in their own special way. Leliana kept them flat against the table, only lifting up the barest hint of an edge. Using both hands, Dorian squared his shoulders and placed the cards close enough to his lips to kiss them. As if not having a care in the world, Josephine swept them up and ran her finger along the edge. Varric was his usual self, trying to get every single possible tell out of the way early before he actually looked at his hand. And Hawke, there were none like Hawke in all of thedas.

"Shit, shit, shit. Ooh, that's a good one. I always liked that one. Shit." She all but threw the cards face up onto the table to show everyone which was her favorite. The sad thing was, half the time she still won the damn game despite being unable to bluff her way out of a sack. That family good luck which Lana somehow missed out on always rose up to save her.

The Inquisitor was delicate in his approach, even more so than Josephine. His eyes hunted across every card for a second longer than was necessary, as if he expected them to confess their secrets.

"Oghren," Leliana said, distracting Lana from staring through the Inquisitor, "he taught us how to play Diamondback during the blight. Among other things."

"Actually," Lana scratched her forehead and threw in the first bid. "I learned it in the circle tower."

"Oh, ho," Dorian perked up at that, "I didn't think your jailers went in for that sort of nonsense. Isn't it all up at dawn, scrub the floors, drop and give me ten?"

Lana folded her hands and placed her chin upon them to glare at the tevinter mage, "We found our fun when we could."

"Sometimes with the templars," Josephine interrupted, then she giggled, "or so the rumors go. I raise the bid to ten."

People shuffled off a few of their cards for replacements, but Lana hung onto hers. She never liked to reveal a weakness this early in the game. Hawke loomed over Varric's shoulder and spotted a card she preferred. The two of them tried to negotiate a way to hand it over to her. It was completely against the rules, but no one spoke against it, the game more relaxed than the typical cutthroat deals in other taverns. It felt good to only be making decisions that cost her a few buttons instead of the deaths of countless people. She'd missed this. Hawke was her own entertainment in 6 foot plus form, but being surrounded and sharing her thoughts with others was her life for so long before the wardens changed all that. She never realized how strange being alone truly was until she was out of the tower. After being watched every day of her life since she was six, finding herself alone felt almost sinful. It was hard to shake even ten years later.

"Lana," Dorian began, "I may call you Lana, I hope." She nodded for him to continue. "The dwarf here and I have a small bet and, given your history, I suspect you might be just the one to solve it."

She blinked and glanced up from her cards into a smile that opened a pit in her stomach. This couldn't be good. "What is it?" she asked against all common sense.

"As I understand it, you have a rather intimate knowledge of our dear Commander Cullen." Dorian's voice dropped down into a stern mimic of Cullen's while saying his name.

Lana ran her fingers against the cards as she stretched her neck. After a second she sighed, "Where did you hear that?"

"Let's just say a rather large bird told me," Dorian tried to play coy, but Hawke slapped her knee from the joke.

"Large bird? I like that."

"Don't believe everything Hawke tells you." Lana glared at her cousin.

"It's," Hawke pointed at Lana then Dorian, "probably good advice."

"I see. Well, regardless, you've been around templars before. Being in your little circle together, or however it works down south. So, you might be able to solve this impasse we've reached. We're trying to determine what material our dear commander's smallclothes are composed of."

Lana choked on her own saliva from the shock, "What?"

"I suspect he's into something tiny and silky. All gruff armor and stern glances on the outside but underneath that it's satiny lace."

"That's uh..." Lana struggled for a way to save herself and defend Cullen.

Varric sat up beside Dorian and slapped his conspirator on the back, "I say he skinned a bear and whatever didn't fit on that ruffled coat of his, he wrapped around himself."

"That makes a lot of sense," Hawke said bobbing her head at Varric. "No way all of a bear pelt went into his coat wrap thing." She circled her fingers around her neck and sent the flower crown scattering to the floor. Without saying a word, Hawke scooped it up and placed it back upon her head.

Maker, out of all the ways she could get on Cullen's bad side it had to involve a tevinter mage and his smallclothes! Breathing to steady her voice, Lana shrugged, "I'm sorry, I can't help you. I have no idea what material makes up any templar's underthings much less the commander's."

Dorian blinked slowly and she dug her fingernails into her cards, afraid he'd call her on the bluff. But then the grin cracked and he shrugged, "Ah, it was only an idea. I suppose it's back to plan B, dwarf."

"That's all on you, Sparkles. I prefer my head where it is."

Mercifully, the conversation drifted away from Cullen and smallcothes in general to what was upon everyone's minds. Lana managed to get caught up on what she'd missed in thedas while she was in exile. So much had changed quickly both in Ferelden and Orlais it was going to take her weeks to figure it all out. Even the mage rebellion ending only brought more questions to her mind. Lana knew that Ali...the crown had let them stay in Redcliffe and something happened to break that deal, but Fiona must have some endgame. She wasn't the type to back easily into a corner.

"Do you remember the game we used to play during cards?" Leliana asked Lana. She unearthed a mug from beside her and poured it to the rim from the qunari sized pitcher on the table.

"No," Lana shook her head as she accepted the drink. She knew what Leliana was driving at, and had to stop it now, "No, that is...inadvisable." She sipped the drink and discovered it was that piss posing as mead Varric mentioned earlier. The cloying sweetness of mead was replaced by an acid ravaging down her throat. She blinked a few tears back from the fumes and then took another sip.

"Now I have to know what it is," Dorian sat up, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"It was rather simple," Leliana continued despite Lana's insistence. "Everyone says something they've never done and anyone who has must take a drink."

"You mean 'I will never?' We have that in tevinter, but it's a teensy touch more complicated."

"And involves a shit ton more blood magic, right Sparkles?"

Dorian sighed and threw his head back in feigned outrage, but when he glanced back those bittersweet eyes landed upon the Inquisitor for a beat. Lana almost scooted away to avoid the heat before he smiled and turned to the dwarf, "Everything in tevinter involves blood magic. Why you can't greet someone for morning salutations without slitting a wrist or two."

"So..." Josephine spoke up, still giggling from her wine.

"No, I do not intend to strip naked and sacrifice you all. Not while the night is young at least," Dorian rolled his eyes.

"Not that," Josephine said. "This game, I think we should play it." Lana dropped her head to the table more than aware of how this damn idea turned out before during the blight. Throw in Dorian, Hawke, and Varric and no one was going to be able to look each other in the eye until next harvestmere. Josephine glanced at her, but plowed ahead, "How does it start?"

"I'll begin it," Lana said, her words muffled by the wood. She sat up and massaged her forehead. What to say? Ah! Smiling slyly at Leliana, she said, "I have never nailed someone's knickers to a chantry board."

The spymaster smiled and drank her own grog with a flourish. After placing it down, she explained, "Now everyone who's ever done that takes a drink."

"Oh, of course, so simple." Josephine sipped her wine and, as a bit of a surprise, so did Dorian.

After finishing, he shrugged, "What? We were all young once. Youngish. Does it count as young if it was two years ago?"

"May it be my turn?" Josephine interrupted. No one was about to argue, so she screwed up her face struggling for one. Snapping her fingers, she said, "I have never...no, oh, um...I have never killed a demon."

"By all the..." Dorian grumbled downing another as did everyone else at the table save the grinning ambassador.

"I'm quite enjoying this game," Josephine said while twirling her glass in her fingers.

Leliana patted her friend on the shoulder then took up the next round, "I have never kissed royalty."

Lana shot a look at her, but her friend wore an inscrutable yet innocuous look as if she didn't intend to attack her specifically. Glaring into the table, Lana took a drink a bit longer than normal to try and blot out the reason she was doing it.

Hawke scratched the back of her head and asked, "Does it count if they kissed you?"

"When did that happen?" Varric asked.

"You remember, we were in Nevarra and that King of fancy pants whatever he was came up to me and..."

"Hawke, that wasn't actual royalty. He was in a play."

Shrugging, Hawke tipped back her glass and all but licked it clean. "Still counts. It's a king, just one without a country." She filled her glass, then glanced around the table, "Coming up with stuff I've never done? This'll take awhile. Um...who's going next?"

"I will," the soft Inquisitor spoke up, straightening his shoulders, "I have never killed a high dragon."

Lana turned to him, "Truly? Give it time." She shared a look with Leliana as they both drank. Hawke was now tipping back her glass underhanded either out of boredom or she was already at stage one drunk and rounding to the next level.

"Oh wait," Hawke slammed her mug down on the table and grinned, "I just thought of one!"

"That's great Hawke, now you say what it is," Varric prompted.

"I have never ever killed an archdemon!"

Every eye swiveled to the only warden in the room. She tipped her head, her tongue hunting across her teeth to buy time before she poured the last of whatever this was down her throat. It stopped biting through her gullet a question back and was now sloshing around in her stomach. This was not a good sign.

"Varric? You got one?"

"Sure, I've never fought in the blight," he shrugged then reached forward to bang his glass into Lana's.

"For all the...is the game actually called get the warden drunk?" she complained even while fulfilling her duty. "I'm the injured one here."

"So was I in our last skirmish, but you don't hear me complaining," Dorian sniffed.

"You mean the splinter from lifting a piece of firewood? And you didn't shut up about it for three days," Varric snorted at him.

"It was very deep," he whined, batting his eyelashes in mock pain. "Ah, it seems everyone has taken their turn but me. Hm, oh, I know. I have never snogged anyone at Skyhold." Then, against the rules, Dorian took a deep draught from his glass and smacked his lips. Beside her, Lana watched the Inquisitor quietly smile and take a bare sip.

"That's not how it works, Dorian," Josephine insisted as she climbed across the table to prod her finger into him.

"I was thirsty, and thought it ample opportunity to brag," he smiled at Josephine. Chuckling broke out from the mage's insouciance. The table fell silent as they all turned to Lana finishing off her pint. It wasn't until she placed the mug back on the table she realized what she'd done.

"Lanny?" Leliana was the first to question her.

"Sorry," Lana blushed and a stammer flew from her lips as her inebriated brain searched for a lie, "forgot what the question was. It was about killing darkspawn, or golems, or any of the other thousands of things I've fought, right?"

Dorian chuckled, "I do believe our Diamondback ringer is fully snickered. Let's play some cards!"

Despite playing the professional charmer, Dorian was total shit at games of chance. He kept fluting at the most inopportune time which kicked him from the game before the second round. Yet losing all his buttons did nothing to dampen him, he grinned through every hand without him like he was the biggest winner among them. Josephine was vicious in the way only an antivan could be, her strikes surgical and quick, but Lana knew how to beat them. Zevran had done much the same and was just as easily distracted with flattery, though Josie bounced back from it faster. After watching her pile of buttons fade to only a single one, Josephine sat out and sipped the last of her bottle of wine while standing over Leliana's shoulder.

Before too long, the spymaster herself was out. She acted the part of failing to watch the flow of the game, but Lana knew Leliana excused herself. Occasionally, the spymaster's eyes would wander over her friend, but she seemed to be paying just as much attention to the others. Did they know Leliana was playing them while they played?

"Nope, I'm quitting before I lose my shirt," Varric said tossing his cards into the growing pile of buttons.

"Or worse," Hawke snorted, "your chest hair." Once again, that Hawke luck radiated through. Despite the game of chance knocking out an antivan, a tevinter who probably grew up in gambling houses, a spymaster, and the man who introduced Diamondback to Kirkwall, it was Hawke who was still in the game.

Varric leaned back in his chair to let that mythical chest hair breathe. He'd switched to a bottled ale and kept taking slow swigs from it. Lana thought she recognized the label as one of Isabela's stock with a few anatomical pictures drawn upon the purveyor's forehead. "You're about to learn why you never play games against Hawke, Inquisitor."

"Does she cheat?" his eyes broke from his cards to draw across the dwarf. It came as no surprise how conservatively the elf played, each careful challenge met by an even greater defense. His only downfall seemed to be the mage sitting across from him that was now swirling his fingers through a puddle of spilled beer to draw glyphs upon the table. Every once in awhile Dorian would look up, impishly smile, and the Inquisitor would float a valuable face card.

"Who? Me?" Hawke squeaked, now on her fifth pint. Maybe sixth. Lana gave up after two, the medicine in her system wishing nothing to do with alcohol. "I am a law abiding Kirkwall of citizen Champion!"

"A law abiding citizen who aided the mage rebellion," Leliana said turning to her.

Hawke blinked slowly then pushed two cards to the Inquisitor for an exchange, "I didn't say whose laws, now did I? Besides it all worked out in the end. Your big sword here saved the day." Dorian snorted from the unintentional euphemism and the Inquisitor shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Didn't ya? What am I missing now? It's not funny to not tell me things!" Hawke stampeded over the awkward but adorable blushing filling the room.

Varric patted her on the arm and sighed, "I'll tell you when you're sober."

"Good luck with that," Hawke snorted while adding more fuel to the fire. After wiping the beer from her lips, she shook her head, "What was I saying? Oh right, Inquisitor here stopped the mage rebellion. Brought it all to a halt. Good on him and everything."

"Yes, hear, hear," Dorian called raising his empty glass, "good on him."

The tevinter mage cut off from the destruction across southern thedas was the only one in a celebratory mood. Lana's eyes darted to Leliana and they shared a look. Things were not settled, anyone with half a brain knew that after Corypheus was dealt with the same problems would yet remain, the anger double in its viciousness. Even Varric remained quiet, his eyes boring into the ceiling above them.

"Dorian, that's..." the Inquisitor tried to cut him off before the man began literally singing his praises.

Behind them the door swung open, a mountain wind trying to scatter the loot piled up on the table. Lana reached out to save it along with the Inquisitor. Meanwhile, Hawke cheered the buttons on to freedom. Varric's head swung down and a smile widened upon his face, "Curly! You've come to join us?"

Then Lana heard Cullen's tell tale sigh, "I was merely passing through when I saw the light under the crack..." She turned around in her chair and smiled lightly at him. His eyes landed upon her and his scar lifted before he shook himself and nodded at the others in the room, "Inquisitor, and ambassador, spymaster..."

"We're gonna be here all night if he keeps naming everyone," Dorian quipped.

Cullen growled, "Pavus."

Dorian nudged Varric in the gut, "I'm coming around to your theory. It would explain the eternal crankiness."

"What would?" Cullen interrupted, his eyes boring into the nonchalant mage.

Lana jumped to his rescue by sliding another card forward to exchange with the pile, "Shouldn't we be finishing this game?" She felt Cullen approach from behind her, the commander interested in the shenanigans of the rest of the leaders in Skyhold.

"I see you're playing cards," he continued. Only the barest wisp of pain threaded through his words, so narrow you'd have to know him to hear it. Lana winced from it while staring at her new card, but she didn't know how to respond without showing her whole hand.

Thankfully, Varric came to the rescue, "Shit, Curly. We figured you were still busy with that...what were you doing out there in the rain?"

"Drills, and that was hours ago."

"Is that what you call it when you make your men march around shirtless?" Dorian interrupted, "In which case you need to drill much more often." The Inquisitor sighed softly under the guise of picking two more cards, but Lana knew that feeling. Someone I care for just made an ass out of himself. Do I help or let him keep digging? She often made the choice of passing him a shovel. The Inquisitor was far kinder.

"We need our standing army to be fresh," the Inquisitor said, his eyes peeking over the tops of his cards at the tevinter mage.

"They look plenty fresh to me," Dorian whistled.

Varric leaned forward, "Our Hero, Champion, and Herald are in some final death match here, but we can deal you in next hand, Curly."

Cullen leaned back on his heels behind Lana. It would be perfectly natural for him to grab onto the back of her chair for balance but he steadied himself upon the sword instead. "That's all right, perhaps some other time."

"I'll hold you to that," Varric tipped back on his chair and slipped a boot upon the table.

"I am curious to see how this hand plays out though," the commander said while slipping nearer to Lana. She squared her shoulders and sat a bit higher as the scent of his body washed over her. Dorian wasn't kidding, he'd been out in the yard exercising the same as the other soldiers. Maker, how she wanted to leap on top of him, pry off every inch of armor and answer Dorian's question in the flesh. Instead, Lana dropped another two buttons onto the pile and turned to Hawke.

"Your draw," she said.

Her cousin scratched her head, glanced at her cards, knocked her fingers against the table, then blinked, "Shit, right! I had a point."

"That would be a first," Dorian sniped back, which earned him a cautious look from the Inquisitor.

Nothing stung Hawke as she continued, "Us, the three of us, together here. It's funny because we were all in the running to be the head of this little Inquisition. Right?"

A few heads swiveled from Hawke back to the Inquisitor and the Hero before landing upon Leliana. "That is true."

"So, let's make this game interesting. Winner gets control of the Inquisition!" Hawke spread her hands wide, almost throwing her cards through the air.

"That's not..."

"I don't think we should..."

"It's inadvisable to..."

All three advisers spoke at once in an attempt to tamper down the Champion's wager. "Ah come on," Hawke chided, "What's the worse that could happen? Sky's ripped open and a talking ancient magister darkspawn's getting ideas of god hood. Hard to beat that. You feel any blights coming on?" She turned to Lana and raised her tankard in question.

Lana shook her head, not at the blight question, but the idiocy of placing an entire army's leadership upon a game of cards. It'd probably happened before in the history the thedas, complete fools were often made kings after all, but precedent didn't make the idea anymore ludicrous. "I'm uncertain if..."

"I'm game," the Inquisitor interrupted her. He twisted his chin lower to cast a scrutinizing look upon Lana. She grumbled into her hands and pulled her cards closer to her chest. There was no way out of it without looking a coward or... She feared the or more.

"Very well," Lana sighed, "I am in as well. Shall we call it?"

"Oo! Me first," Hawke picked up her cards, unearthed one that slipped under her mug, and chucked them into the middle of the table. Her suits and numbers ranged all across the board, not a single one matching.

Varric scooted the cards around to face him and clucked his tongue, "That is the absolute worst hand you can possible get in this game. I'm damn impressed actually. Is that a coaster?" He thumbed an extra piece of paper that slipped into the game.

Hawke threw her arms behind her head and tipped the chair into the wall. "Guess I don't have to be in charge. Such a shame. Heart's broken, and so on and so forth. Okay, now you two go."

The Inquisitor's narrow eyes slipped to Lana and then he laid down his hand. "I believe you call this a Full Keep," he didn't smile but his eyes gleamed from the strength of his hand, each face card grinning for him.

Lana glanced down at her cards, then plastered on the biggest loser smile she could manage, "I am afraid I have nothing to beat that. Congratulations on maintaining your, how did you put it Hawke? Big sword."

"Best kind to have!" Hawke called unaware of the precarious position Lana just lied her way out of. The rest of the table released a breath as the tension faded away leaving only the smokey bonhomie in its wake. The Inquisitor scooped the buttons up to his side of the table while Dorian smoldered at him. Big sword indeed, Lana chuckled to herself. She carefully folded her cards back into the pile obscuring the fact she had the entire royal house of one suit.

Varric picked up the deck and gave the cards a flick, "That's enough Diamondback. How about we try my preferred poison and switch to Wicked Grace?"

"I'm afraid that's enough excitement for me," Lana said scooting back her chair, "healing and all." She rose to her weary feet and willed her muscles to skirt around the table.

"Too bad, the runner up's leaving us," Varric sighed, then pointed at Cullen. "You wanna take her seat?"

The commander slipped back to the door and picked up Lana's staff. He handed it to her without a second thought, then glanced at the dwarf. "Ah, no. Drilling can take a lot out of a man."

Dorian snorted in the middle of a drink spraying cheap mead all over the Inquisitor's gain. His puppy eyes danced up at Cullen who was scowling, then back to the Inquisitor who was scowling for a different reason. But none of it slowed him down. "Oh Maker," he sighed, shaking his head. "What? Did that bypass over everyone's heads?"

Lana reached the door, her fingers upon the handle when Hawke called out, "You need me to help you back?"

"No, I..." she paused and did her best to not glance at the man finding his own convenient excuse to get out of there, "I believe I can handle it on my own."

"Got it!" Hawke clapped her hands, then slammed both on the table, "All right, let's do this. What else we got to raise the stakes? How about we put Skyhold on the line?"

Josephine sighed, "You cannot bet a place you do not own."

"Good night everyone," Lana called pausing for the chorus of responses before she slipped into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

It took a few minutes for Cullen to catch up to her, not that she was limping quickly across the battlements. He coughed to get her attention, as if she couldn't hear him clanging away behind her.

"I thought you might like a bit of assistance back to your room."

Lana smiled and twisted around to face him. The moonlight lit upon his pale face turning him almost white. Those golden eyes gleamed as Cullen tried to blot away a hunger smoldering in them. "No," she said. His sure smile faltered before she continued, "I was hoping to enjoy the evening with a walk around Skyhold instead of returning straight to my room. I would love some company though." She reached out and slipped her arm under his. A goofy grin stretched his cheeks as he rose back to sure footing with her clinging to him for balance. Lana slid closer and put more of her weight upon him than she had her cousin, not that Hawke couldn't have lifted her up on her shoulders. Cullen patted her hand upon his, the soft leather caressing her naked fingers. Rather than remove it, he kept his fingers pinned in place upon hers.

"Lead on," he said. Lana did just that, her body gently nudging into his while she poured enough energy into her staff to kick out a small blue orb. Even on the best of days, winter winds whipped off the mountains ravaging most of Skyhold, but tonight they lay dormant. Perhaps they were enjoying a night in as well, playing games with the other weather phenomena. Only a cold chill crept off the snow swarming the walls in the slowest invasion. Lana bit back a shiver as the creeping fingers of winter plucked at her skin below the linen tunic. She cursed herself for trusting Hawke and not bringing her cloak.

Cullen caught the movement, "Are you cold?"

"Only a little," Lana answered. She slipped a hand under the drapery of his surcoat, pulling her body tighter to him. His warmth enveloped her as he placed his hand upon her shoulders to try and guard her against the mountain air. Cullen sighed softer than the winds, his lips almost pressing into the top of her head. Silently, they walked in that formation like two people competing in their own personal three legged race. Despite the armor, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his armor, finding a rare soft section on the commander's unbending body.

Circling the battlements wasn't the most exciting of tours, but the moon hung full in the sky so bright only a smattering of stars could break through the night. She felt blissful, freer than her heart had been in a near on year while gazing up at the endless void. To some it unnerved them, the question of how a never ending abyss could envelop the world. What was at the edge of the sky? Lana knew she'd never find out, but it was fun to wonder. The only other movement through the hold came from people milling below on the courtyard. No one else stepped upon the battlements. For once, they were completely alone. Even then, she felt Cullen stiffen below her hands when a voice carried on the wind. Gossip was dangerous and could derail an army's cohesion, especially if favoritism was suspected. To show that much interest in a potentially dangerous outsider would only reflect poorly on the commander. She'd hoped to keep their...andraste's tears, what were they doing? Was it little more than a protracted one-night stand? Lana knew she had no standing to ask more of him than that, to expect more than that. And, she wondered, could she ever be trusted with more than a passing fling? Her own heart lay in...she wasn't even certain anymore. Perhaps no one had a claim to it. Instead, it was sealed in those jars the Nevarran mortalitassi use, never to be unearthed for a thousand years. Still, talk could become an issue and he needed to be told.

"There's something you should know," Lana began. Her steps slowed and they paused just before a massive gap across the wall where time or an ancient boulder shattered apart the stone path. Twisting in his grasp, she looked up into his eyes. Cullen laid his hands gently across both of her shoulders and waited for her to explain.

"Hawke's been talking," she said and Cullen laughed.

"Next you will tell me the sun rises in the east."

"Except she's been talking about me...and you," Lana watched his smile snap away to a wrathful focus.

"Talking to who? About what?"

"The what I'm uncertain of, but the...Dorian knows something. At least enough to ask me about...I, uh." It struck her that telling Cullen might be crueler than leaving him with a heads up to beware rumors. It'd be better to keep the truth vague.

But he sighed and massaged the back of his neck, "You may as well give me the full of it. I will only imagine it's far worse than it is."

"He asked me what your smallclothes are made of," Lana sputtered out, her eyes dancing from his face back to the empty void beyond Skyhold. She'd expected Cullen to snarl, or perhaps throw something, but he only snorted. A few sharp curses broke under his breath, but when she turned back to him his face was calm.

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. Sort of. That I couldn't answer his question," Lana shrugged. Her hands skimmed up his biceps to his shoulders, trying to find the man below the armor. She saw it only for the briefest of windows, but the image rested safe in her memory. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "It's not as if there's a material nothing's made out of."

"It's, uh," Cullen's cheeks burned and his eyes danced upon the ground. "Been a few years since you last would have...imposed upon such a discovery."

Lana blinked into his bashful eyes for a moment, then she glanced down his body to stop at that big sword, "Are you telling me you've changed tactics since then?"

Gulping a few times, Cullen pressed his lips close to her ear. His warm breath raced through her body alighting the butterflies no longer dormant in her stomach. "Not precisely, no. I was hoping to give you an excuse to check."

"Oh," Lana brushed her fingers against his cheek, "I've never needed an excuse."

He slipped down and so quickly placed a kiss against her lips he missed by half, either the indisputable innuendo or the excitement making him jumpy. Before Cullen could rise to his full height, Lana grabbed onto both sides of his face and pulled him down for a proper one. After three days in the sick bed with only Hawke and a tight lipped Leliana for company, she damn well deserved it. Stubble prickled into her top lip from the man who never seemed to properly shave. She cupped her lips around his bottom one instead, sucking and nibbling upon it. Cullen enveloped his arms around her and pulled her body tighter. Ignoring the push of metal against her chest, she melded deeper to him and felt the evidence that he hadn't changed his stance on underthings. Sweet maker, that throb below the belt pushing against her stomach made her head spin more than the cheap mead ever could. A soft sigh rattled in her throat as her body tried to jumpstart her mind, but she broke from the kiss and back onto her feet. There was a time and a place, and no matter how badly she wanted to defile the commander of the Inquisition right now, she wasn't about to put Cullen in any awkward danger.

He held his hands against her back, the fingers digging into her exhausted muscles and he gazed down at her. "I never want to let you go," he whispered so softly, his eyes closed tight, she wondered if he meant to keep it to himself.

"That would make eating difficult," Lana said while watching to see how he'd react to her hearing his words.

Cullen chuckled but didn't break his hold upon her. His eyes rolled open but there was only contentment in them, "Sadly true." No accusing her of being blood mage, no sudden questions if she could read his mind through some other forbidden magics. She'd known how tight of a line she walked with him in the deep roads. A templar being shown the full potential of a mage let off her lead, it was dangerous for her. But she'd needed him, needed a templar, so she shrugged off the panicked looks upon her casting amplified spells. Or when he kept his fingers wrapped around the knife's hilt after her bad dream. And now, he suffered the indignity of someone like Pavus as if a magister were little more than a hangnail.

"I am surprised you put up with Dorian. A tevinter mage no less."

Cullen pinched his lips together in thought, "He's insubordinate to an infuriating degree, but proven that he's devoted to assisting our cause."

Parting her fingers through his forehead, Lana drew across the wrinkles staining his brow. She lifted them up causing his eyebrows to rise in fake surprise. Underneath them the scowl broke, even the pain etched under his eyes and around his mouth seemed diminished. "You have changed," she stuttered.

"I..." Cullen's eyes dipped down to his feet, "I know that I was...I cannot ask for forgiveness for what I did. The anger, Maker, the hatred."

Lana cupped his cheek and his eyes flickered to meet her. She smiled, "People, not problems."

"People," he agreed. "Though you can cause problems." Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes from whatever else the tevinter mage saddled him with.

Burrowing her fingers into the gap of his armor, she hooked an arm around his muscled back and pulled herself higher to meet him. Lana trailed kisses along his jawline. The stubble scratched her lips, but she didn't mind knowing that she'd savor that particular burn later. Taking extra care to lavish attention upon that little divot in his chin, she paused to whisper, "You have no idea how many."

His body trembled from the hunger in her voice. She should stop it, rein herself in as she always did, but sod common sense. Sod duty, the order, and every other weight hanging off her neck. All she wanted right then in that moment was him. Cullen seemed to be of the same opinion. He kissed down her neck, the warm breath alighting her skin against the creeping frost. Pushing back that infernal high collar with his pinkie, he continued the trail lower, savoring every inch of her skin as if they were stumbling kids sharing each other's bodies for the first time. Lana rose up on her tiptoes, steadying herself as he dipped even lower.

"Oh! Oh, Maker! Sorry, I didn't realize there was anyone over here."

Lana wiped away her light, casting them both into darkness. Her eyes snapped over at not a soldier, but what looked to be one of the merchants out for a night stroll. He was dressed in traveling leathers far too light for the mountainous weather. "That's quite all right," Lana said. She kept her hands pinned tight to Cullen holding him in place against her chest. It was doubtful the merchant had any idea who she was, but he'd be certain to recognize the commander.

"Having a bit of fun away from prying eyes, eh?" the man snickered. "Say no more, say no more. I'll just leave you two to it then." He slipped backwards on his heels, sliding deeper into the shadows. It wasn't until she lost sight of his face that Lana released her grip on Cullen. The commander glared at the retreating form, but a burn scarred up the back of his neck.

"I'm doing fantastic at this," he muttered under his breath while scrubbing his face with his fingers.

"Uh huh," Lana said, her eyes still upon the nondescript man trying to blend back in with the rest of Skyhold. Cullen followed her gaze, then turned a question upon her. She twisted her head, "A merchant, wandering the battlements alone at night expecting this broken section to be empty."

As the information dawned on him, Cullen rolled his eyes, "He's a blighted spy. Great."

"I can tell Leliana in the morning, assuming she isn't already aware," Lana continued to watch the man she'd painted in her mind. Before her flare sputtered out she got a good look at his face and a memorable scar bisecting up the cheek. Even a beard could not hide it.

"And in the meantime he'll do who knows how much damage, gather all the secrets he can, and pass them on to his contacts. Whoever they are," Cullen sneered again, the hammer finding a new nail.

That was what he was best at, the unstoppable force, finding an immediate threat and ending it. But she'd seen this kind of subterfuge before, ran into it on more than few occasions in Amaranthine. The best response was to tag the man, watch to see where his dead drops were, then move to intercept. Anything else wasted possible opportunities to smoke out others. And yet, Cullen's approach felt so much simpler and satisfying.

Lana ran her fingers down his arm to slip them into his hand. He broke from his mental list of all the ways to punish the spy due to her touch. "Leliana can handle it," Lana whispered. "It will be easier if I mention running into him on the way to my room. You grabbing your sword and intercepting him would raise questions."

"True," he admitted, but she still saw the glint in his eye. "I would leave it in her capable hands either way." At Lana's curious smirk, he added, "I do have some control over my actions."

"Speaking of..." Lana patted her side, the pain redoubling as the last of her draught drifted out of her system, "sleep sounds a wonderful option right now."

Cullen cupped her hands inside of his, "I would still make good on my earlier offer."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, commander," Lana said. She took his extended arm the way an elderly woman would cling to her helpful grandchild as they stepped down the battlements and onto the courtyard. Few paid them any attention, their own pallets filled for the night, but a couple soldiers saluted as Cullen passed. He'd return it, ask if all was well, then continue guiding his platonic associate past them. It wasn't until they rounded into the great hall that she dared to slip closer to him. No one moved among the empty tables stretched along the runners. Every fifth candle was lit, the flame low and bobbing from the winds of their passing. It cast dark shadows against the scaffolding, and drew the eyes upwards towards the inches of moonlight cresting through the roof. Skyhold was quiet.

By the time they got to her door, Lana ached to curl up under the covers and not rise until she was finally rid of this blasted wound. Cullen dropped her hands and awkwardly twisted his body up in an uncertain knot. His hand ruffled through the back of his hair, knocking the not-curls forward.

"Something on your mind?" Lana asked. Maker, with a flush upon his cheeks and those deep set eyes dancing into hers, then away out of fear, he was a man who could steal any heart he wanted. How were there not declarations of war for his hand?

"I was wondering, wanted to ask you about a thing that I noticed. Your card game with the Inquisitor."

"And Hawke," Lana prompted.

"Yes, her too." Cullen smiled and finally settled in her eyes to say, "I saw your hand."

Lana feigned a mock outrage but internally her mind screamed, "That's cheating, commander."

"I wasn't involved in the game, it can't be cheating if I have no stake in the game," he scoffed, but those piercing eyes softened for a moment as he remeasured his morality. "You...you could have won," he pointed out the obvious.

"True," Lana bobbed her head, her eyes focusing just below his.

"Why?"

Her mind reeled to find an excuse, anything to explain why she did it. "I rather doubt Hawke or the Inquisitor were serious. Hawke is never serious," Lana smiled, but she knew it wasn't reaching her eyes. "To take command of the Inquisition now given all he's accomplished, all those who've pledged to him, it's preposterous."

His fingers knotted through hers and she sighed from the contact dragging her back. "You could have..."

Lana raised an eyebrow at him and walled up her fear behind sarcasm, "Suddenly, you seem eager for me to take up the mantle. I didn't realize you bore that particular hunger for my ordering you around."

Instead of blushing, he sighed at her and was not about to rise to the bait, "Lana, you just spotted that spy as an afterthought. You'd make an excellent leader, you always have."

Right, an excellent leader who got everyone under her command brainwashed, kidnapped, or worse. The kind of leader who ran from her duty when no one was left. If it weren't for Hawke... Lana pulled on Cullen's hands and knotted them around her back. His eyes dipped in confusion, but he didn't fight her. The chill of the night nipped against her cheek as she placed it against the armor over his chest. "I'm tired of all that. Tired of being distant, being..." she dug harder into him, her fingers rubbing circles along his back, "untouchable."

Stubble roughed up her forehead as Cullen placed his chin against her. "I suppose I can understand."

Clinging together overlooking the garden, a thousand unspoken conversations rose up between them. Conversations they needed to have. Lana knew it, but she feared to put a single voice to them because she also knew exactly how it would all end. This was a fool's dream, but it was a nice one.

Cullen's lips kissed her forehead, drawing her out of her reverie. Sliding away from his warm embrace, a yawn struggled out of Lana's throat. "Sleepier than I anticipated," she said, then blocked off a second with her hand.

Her fingers knotted around the handle and she pushed open the door to her room. The abandoned candle sputtered on the desk, her book still open from when Hawke dragged her away. Warmth percolated through the room, calling her to it.

"Good evening, commander," Lana said. She picked up Cullen's hand and gently kissed the glove. Perhaps not the wisest of decisions as they tasted of oil, leather, and the grime coating Skyhold's walls.

Cullen chuckled at the move, then he dipped down and scooped her up for one last kiss. His arms knotted around her waist, lifting her higher as they attempted to devour each other. Before any other spies could accidentally wander in, he placed her down. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, "Sleep well, Lady Amell."


	8. Chapter 8

The smell of sweat slicked off brows onto the grass below, the sound of metal bashing into metal or meat, the burst of energy riding the wind from combatants revealing each other's weak points. Lana forgot how much she missed sparring. As the warden commander, her job was to watch the warriors train the others. It wasn't as if a mage could offer up much by way of suggestion for how best to stick someone with a sword. Use the pointy end and try to not get stabbed. And, she was supposed to be the intellectual one, jotting down notes and paging through books, not neck deep in the blood and muck while rain pounded from the skies watching two of her own square off.

But, by the Maker, did her blood pump while she sat perched upon a stack of straw bales watching an Inquisition soldier try and pummel the hell out of Hawke. "Keep your arm up," Lana shouted.

Hawke spun around, dodging the man's shield and spraying the audience with mud from her extended sword. "Arm schmarm! I've got this!" her cousin shouted. She'd stripped off her armor for what ladies and gentlemen in imposing masks would probably call indecent, displaying her scarred and imposing muscles for the world to see. It wasn't that Hawke wasn't lady like, she merely followed her own definition of lady. One that involved hitting things often. Hawke snorted at the indignity of Lana's involvement and the cold of the mountain crystalized her breath giving her the impression of a bull about to charge. Her opponent, a well meaning kid who was honored to fight the Champion of Kirkwall, mightily wet himself.

Lana chuckled and shouted, "I wasn't talking to you!"

Laughing as if throwing open the void itself, Hawke lunged at the kid. He tried to twist away, but her blade whacked him in the back sending him skittering into the mud ass over end. His foot hung suspended above his head, the sword long lost in the pit that began as dirt. "That's mine!" Hawke cried while slotting her greatsword back where it belonged. With the match over, the terrifying hell beast slipped back onto its leash leaving behind only the friendly and overbearing woman. Hawke grabbed both arms around the bruised and battered man so she could haul him up. She tried to rub off the mud on his uniform, but only smudged it up more.

"Th..th...thanks?" he stuttered. Hawke still held him slightly suspended off the ground, his toes paddling against thin air, and Lana suspected she wasn't even aware.

"No problem, you did good. Not like defeat an invasion good, but you didn't trip and impale yourself on your sword. That's always a plus," Hawke tried to whisper to the kid but her voice echoed through the training ground. A dozen spectators huddled around. They'd begun the day with none, but as word of the Champion of Kirkwall spread, so did the attention.

Leaning on the bale beside Lana was Varric. The dwarf sighed from his friends eternal exuberance over hitting things. He agreed to play arbiter and probably had some coin riding on the outcome, always in Hawke's favor. Yanking up his dagger, Varric put another notch on the board. "That's Hawke 15, Inquisition 1."

"I still say it shouldn't count," Hawke shouted back. "Some damn bird flies past and drops a turtle on my head? That's not part of any fancy fighting routine you can practice."

Varric parted his hands, "I don't make the rules."

"Sure, sure," Hawke grinned at her old friend, then wiped at her face. Below the mud fresh bruises percolated waiting to bloom to their full glory, but the woman didn't care. Didn't seem to even feel the pain as she flexed her arms. "Who's up for the next round?"

"How about me." Hawke turned to the source of the voice and paled at the massive grey skinned man stepping towards her. Leaping over the log barrier of the muddied field, he wiped his fingers along his horns to remove any grease and unsheathed his own greatsword.

Her eyes narrowed at him and she glared into his one eye, "You Qunari?"

"Yup," he said.

"You know I killed a lot of you in Kirkwall? A lot a lot of you. Killed your Arishok too." Hawke spat back. The two of them began to circle like a pair of dogs about to fight or fuck. For the sake of nightmares, Lana prayed it would only be the former. Hearing about Anders was bad enough.

"Yup," the Qunari said, "Got another one though."

Lana cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "I know him!"

That caught the Qunari's attention and his good eye focused on the tiny mage reclining above the sparring yard. It took her awhile to climb up the pile of straw bales, but it was the best seat in the house. "You, a mage, know the Arishok."

Lana smirked and folded her hands across her chest, "More than know. I'm the one who gave him his soul back. Shit, did that sound dirty? I didn't mean it to sound that way."

The Qunari smiled wide, "I do know you. The Kadan Warden. The stories they tell of you in Seheron..."

"All true," Lana interrupted.

"Even the one with the dragon, blood mage, and you bare breasted-"

Varric shot up and shouted, "That one I can vouch for."

"What? No you can't," Lana glared down at him.

The dwarf twisted around to look up at her, "It's part of the narrative structure. You have to admit that one's especially true for the sake of the joke."

"Even if nothing like that remotely happened?"

"Especially then," Varric grinned. He yanked one of his drinks from out of the straw bale and tipped it back. Lana shook her head at the storyteller and occasional archer. They hadn't not gotten on during their adventure, but they weren't exactly close either. Nowhere near as close as he was to Hawke; that was an inexplicable bond that only death could cut.

"Hey! If we're done talking about who did what naked, I've got a reputation to maintain," Hawke whined. "Are you in, or not?"

The Qunari grinned wide and spun to face her, "With pleasure."

"Better be careful there, Tiny. Hawke don't play too nice with oxmen."

Tiny, or whatever his real name was, smiled wide at Hawke while he shouted at Varric, "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

"Oh, gentle, you overgrown lump of overcooked oatmeal!" Hawke lashed out at him first, her fist shattering into his jaw. Tiny danced back to avoid the recoil of her blade, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid her other fist. Blood trickled from a split lip and his tongue lashed out to lap it up. From the other side of the ring, Hawke paused and extended her hand. Tipping her head, she made the 'come here' motion.

Tiny threw his head back and laughed, "I'm gonna enjoy this." He roared, then lunged for Hawke, his horns extended like a proper charging bull. The wise thing would have been to dodge out of the way. It's what Lana would have done after she threw a couple fireballs. But Hawke stood her ground, which threw off the qunari. Mid-dash, he twisted to the side, and Hawke struck with her sword, but the man was fast enough to smash his blade against hers. The clang reverberated through the entire courtyard, even the mud puddles rippled.

"Still playing gentle?" Hawke grinned at him.

"Hm," Tiny whipped his arm back in a great arc to bring his blade down across Hawke's skull, "no!" The Champion met him again, but the block was slower than it should have been.

Still, cocky Hawke was a feature. "Good," she hissed as the two began their deadly dance. Lana leaned forward, drawn by the action, when she heard a soft squeak upon the stairs beside her. Spinning her head quickly, she spotted the madam ambassador's clipboard hovering upon the staircase. Josephine gasped a few "Oh My's" as Hawke and Tiny each took a swing at each other.

"Got any bets on who will be victorious?" Lana asked the wan diplomat.

"I hadn't put much thought into...they're likely to injure themselves doing that!" Josephine cried, her clipboard covering her face. Lana turned back to watch Hawke and her new qunari friend head butting each other. Or trying to. It wasn't working so well in either case as both kept meeting at the same time, then dodging out of the way. Hawke bashed her nose into Tiny's horn and he practically threw himself over her shoulder.

"Scars earn the best drinks," Lana quoted from one of Varric's tales. He heard it and raised his drink at the mage.

"My Lady," Josephine spoke to draw Lana's attention. "I wonder if I might not have a word with you?"

With her eyes fixed upon Hawke, Lana spoke out of the side of her mouth, "Go ahead. I doubt anyone will be watching us."

"Yes, I..." Josephine swallowed as blood sprayed across the yard.

"It's just a flesh wound!" Hawke shouted before she inflicted the same upon Tiny.

Lana's eyes danced away from her cousin to the ambassador. Her skin looked paler than usual, her mouth gawping for air. At the sound of bone meeting bone, she grimaced and fanned her face. Not the type to enjoy these fights. Lana turned to her, "You do not need to watch. We can speak another time if..."

"No, no," Josephine looked away from the spectacle and regained her balance, "The advisers met recently. As you know we have intelligence on Corypheus' plans to take Celine's life and throw Orlais into chaos."

Lana folded up her arms. Officially no, she didn't actually know that. But Leliana wasn't about to keep something like that away from her, and most of the hold seemed aware anyway. It wasn't exactly secret knowledge, though they were a bit more guarded in how the Inquisitor learned it. Behind her she heard the qunari scream, "Gah! Mud in my eye!"

"Andraste's ass, do I hate that," Hawke answered back. Lana turned back in time to watch her cousin knee the giant in the face. How did he even fall?

"Celene is attention a ball soon to solve the civil war crisis. We intend to infiltrate it in order to warn her about Corypheus' assassination plans," Josephine continued, unaware of the epic fight she kept dragging Lana from.

"Good, I guess," Lana said. "I assume we will scope out the Western Approach after then." She was keen to break free of Skyhold and bring justice to the ones that struck her people. But she also knew this wasn't her keep and she had to play by his rules.

"Yes, that is the Inquisitor's intent, but I came to speak to you about the ball at the Winter Palace," Josephine continued.

Something in her tone drug Lana away from watching Tiny lift Hawke up by her leg. "What does this have to do with me?"

"We have an interesting development," Josephine yanked out a small scrap of parchment and dangled it before Lana's eyes. "It seems that it is common practice for the Empress of Orlais to personally invite you to every ball she attends."

"Ah, I forgot about that," Lana snatched up the familiar vellum marked with the seal she grew tired of finding a polite way to respond to with 'not if all of thedas was about to be swallowed into a dark pit.' "Thank you for accepting my mail, but..." her thoughts trailed off as she realized why Josephine and the other advisers suddenly cared about her social life or lack there of. "You want me to attend the ball."

"Corypheus knows of the Inquisition, his people will watch ours, but you are an unknown quantity. Leliana has kept your existence within Skyhold a secret."

"And it's not as if they can take away my magic," Lana said, twisting the card around in her fingers. She'd attended three balls in Ferelden; a coronation, an anniversary of ending the blight, and a wedding. After the last, she made herself too busy with her warden duties to bother fishing out dancing shoes.

"You would be a great asset," Josephine continued to try and flatter her.

Lana's eyes shifted to the diplomat, "And your Inquisitor approves of this?"

For a moment she faltered, just a barest hint of an argument flashing across her face. Most wouldn't have even caught it, but Lana expected it. "He considers it wise to 'stack the deck' given the unknowns."

A scream echoed through the ring so high pitched Lana expected to whip back and find Hawke impaled upon the qunari's horns. Instead, the Champion was somehow perched upon his back, both arms wrapped around said horns. She was trying to steer Tiny like a ship around the arena. "Eeee!" Hawke screamed again, having the time of her life.

"What about Hawke?" Lana tipped her head to the 6' 5" woman caked in mud and bruises literally riding a qunari.

"Ah," Josephine stuttered anew, "she is a wonderful warrior, but given the thoughts in Orlais of the Champion and her relation to the rebellion, it is..."

"I was kidding, Josephine," Lana chuckled. "She is one hell of a dancer though. Orlais' loss, I suppose."

"Leliana did stress that if you are not up to your full potential, you may bow out. She will not risk you for the Orlesian court."

Lana patted her side. The flesh stung from the attack, but it didn't crumple up her stomach or twist up her brain until nausea settled in. "I believe I am in as best of fighting form as we can hope for. So, yes, I will attend this little dance of the Empress'."

"It's actually being thrown by Lady Floriene, sister to Duke Gaspard..."

Lana tried not to roll her eyes as every little notch of Orlesian history was recited to her by the ambassador. Instinctively she knew it was important, and that she best learn all she could before. Not smiling or frowning at the right fancy pants lord would get her into trouble, especially in Orlais. But it all sounded like the time in Vigil's Keep when the piss boy stepped on the stable hands foot. They shot dirty looks for a week, came to awkward blows, and then to everyone's relief, finally kissed.

"Oh," Lana smacked her forehead, halting Josephine's droning, "I'll probably need to wear something other than..." she pulled at her vest and padded down the crumpled shirt, "this."

Josephine's eyes glittered, "Do not concern yourself, I know of the perfect garment for you."

"So fast?" Lana shook her head. Then again, throw a few frills on someone's mage robes and she could pass as fancied up enough to be the Hero of Ferelden. People didn't expect her in some brocade couture, they wanted gleaming armor and darkspawn heads on spikes.

She turned back to the sparring, but the two combatants seemed to have reached their own epic climax. Buried in the mud upon one knee, Hawke blinked against the mud in her eyes while Tiny wiped down his own blood across his chest. The pair panted, eyeing each other up, but grateful for the break.

"By the void, what's all this noise?" A new voice entered the ring, and Lana whipped her head up as Cullen stepped up to the log fence. "Hawke, Bull? Maker's breath, I thought you were mutilating nugs out here."

"We're just..." Hawke panted, "having a bit of fun."

"Yeah, commander," the Qunari slapped his chest and lifted his blade. "Fun." Hawke grinned at him, and answered in kind.

"Fun? You've destroyed the sparring ring. It's a mud hole!" Cullen chastised them, but they kept glaring their own personal madness at the other.

"You telling us to stop?" the Qunari asked.

Cullen folded up his arms and leaned back on his heel, "No, I want to see how this ends."

"Hey, Cullen," Hawke jerked her chin at the commander, "you wanna fight the winner?" Then she leaped into the air, her greatsword extended high over her head. Tiny threw his own sword to the ground and his free arms grabbed onto Hawke's hips. He thought he could hold her extended above his head out of reach, but the woman was too long. She swung the blunted edge hard against his back, but the Qunari didn't drop her. Instead, he ran his fingers up and down her sides, tickling the mighty warrior to death.

"Oh!" Hawke giggled, "I am going to, ha ha ha, kill you!" She kept hacking her sword against him while fighting through the tickles. The Qunari took each blow with aplomb but even he couldn't stand it forever. Now it was a matter of wearing the other down like water against a mountain. Lana glanced away from the two of them to watch Cullen smirking at the sight. He softly shook his head at the display and chuckled. Maker, what she wouldn't give to watch him spar in the ring.

"Lady? My Lady?"

"What?" Lana broke away from the man she mentally stripped to face Josephine.

"I was saying that on top of your attire, you will also require an escort."

"Oh?"

"But I believe I know an exemplary candidate," Josephine smiled. Lana turned back to the commander now inspecting Hawke's winning tally. They had yet to make good on that mauling she began in her room. What better place to light the romance than a ball by starlight?

A grunt from the combatants echoed through the courtyard and both Tiny and Hawke collapsed on top of each other. Mud splattered nearly four feet high into the air, then the groaning began.

"That's it, we're calling it a tie," Hawke shouted. She lay upon her back stretched across the Qunari's trembling side.

His face buried in mud, he had to wipe it away from his nose to snort out, "Agreed."

Varric clucked his tongue, then added a new row to his leader board and one tic mark under Tie. "You're slipping in your old age," he called out.

"Bit me, dwarf," Hawke shouted.

Cullen watched human and qunari help each other rise to their feet before jerking his chin and asking, "Does this mean I have to fight both of them?"


	9. Chapter 9

Officially, the Hero of Ferelden never came to Orlais, her duties keeping her confined within the kingdom of her namesake. With Clarel watching on one side and an Empire more than happy to exploit her connection with the gentry on the other, she was happy to contain her movements. Officially. A few trips in and out of the country never had any reason to go noticed by those in power, especially when she kept to the deep roads. Now she had no choice but to break even that narrow rule.

Fireworks burst over the skies of the Winter Palace, the green and yellow tendrils dripping through the air as they reached for the countryside. A few of the nobles paused in their pecking order to glance up at the extravagance but the servants bustling around them pinning outfits in place and buffing up masks paid it no heed. The staging area before the grand entrance reeked of expensive oils and desperation. Lana moved towards the steps when her skirts snagged under her buckled shoes. Black as pitch, cracked gems glittered off the surface of her slippers like distant stars. A gift from Leliana. The heel was modest and unlikely to offer up too much resistance should the night go the way she was prepared for, not that she wasn't beyond throwing them out of the way at the first sign of trouble. It was the skirts that were giving her trouble.

She'd expected Josephine to haul out a more ruffled version of one of the five dresses worn throughout the streets of Orlais, but the ambassador continued to surprise her. Lana wore a corset with a straight neckline decorated in hand-stitched leathers of black and red cut to mimic scales. She had a pair of arm guards wrapped around her biceps, each baring a tiny red and black leather wing. To complete the illusion of the Hero of Ferelden dressed as an archdemon, it wasn't a black or red skirt wrapped around her legs but translucent silks of orange, reds, and yellows undulating in a haphazard fashion. Sheer on their own, the silks overlapped enough to hide away her skin. To the unsuspecting, the Hero of Ferelden appeared like a dragon that just breathed fire upon itself. Josephine had included an underskirt to fluff it out, but Lana managed to yank that away from the servants. She didn't need to be snagging her skirts across every tight corner. The corset unfortunately was a size too large, which Lana became increasingly aware of as another pin stabbed her in the side. That was survivable, it was the long skirts that concerned her more. At an inch too long and trying to drag through the mud she was likely to trip and fall if she wasn't careful, but due to the ethereal fabric there was no way to hem them. Her hands, emptied of any staff, were destined to spend the entire night holding her skirts away from her shoes.

Lana shivered thanks to her exposed shoulders and arms bumping heads with the night winds. Getting inside was preferable to freezing to death in the courtyard from the creeping cold. Starting a fire would only draw more attention to the mage hidden amongst them like a snake in the grass. Most people from a distance would chuckle at her ensemble. Ah, a dragon, how droll being worn upon such a small woman. Then they'd draw close and notice the scars bisecting her shoulders and arms. That's when the chuckles drifted off to impolite stares and gasps. For being proud of their game, the Orlesian gentry seemed immune to making complete jackasses of themselves when truly surprised.

What she needed was to get through the gates, hole up somewhere away from prying eyes, and wait for a signal from the Inquisitor. But he had to get his ass over to her first. Lana cracked her neck absentmindedly and the lady beside her started from the sound. She smiled at the terrified woman, which only startled her more. Maker, Lana tapped her well shod toe, where was he?

"Excuse me, pardon, begging your rather ample backside..." the voice flitted through the sea of finery until Josephine's noble escort popped out.

"Lord Whitley," Lana sighed. If one took a toad and crossed it with a nug you'd get an unholy abomination and also the closest approximation to Lord Whitley's appearance. He wasn't particularly ugly in the classic sense, but from the way his eyes flitted to the edges and his tongue lapped against his lips when he was approximating thought it was natural to fear Whitley was about to gobble up flies. The man was some distant cousin of the Empress so unloved by the family they somehow kept losing his invitation. But his blood was blue enough he could pass on the Hero of Ferelden's arm, or so Josephine assured her. At the moment, Lana placed the odds of him surviving to the steps at 3:1 and fading fast.

"Ah, my Lady, you are ravishing by moonlight," he pinched his eyes together and stepped closer, "I think. Never you matter, I had a delightful talk with the Duke over there. Seems he has plans to open up an iron ore trade with..."

"I do not care," Lana interrupted.

"Oh, what about...?"

"You are a means to an end, as am I for your 'deals.' Let us get this over quickly before my arms frost over," she sighed while rubbing her fingers along her shoulders.

"I could offer some assistance in that-" his grubbing fingers reached out for her skin and Lana slapped both away. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he shrugged, "I'm only trying to help; you don't have to tear my head off for it."

I will do more than tear your head off, you little toad. She hoped that Josephine was unaware Whitley was the type of man to call her 'a chocolate morsel' and expect to survive the night. If not, she needed to keep a closer eye on the ambassador. Lana flexed her fingers, willing the fire spell away from them. She had far bigger dragons to slay tonight.

"Come," picking up her skirts, she clipped quickly towards the steps of the Winter Palace. Whitley scurried behind her, shouting immaterial tripe about how important the point of his existence was, but she shook it off. Shoving through the gate, anger drove away the vision of the hallway before her. It was probably very elegant and tasteful, with tapestries and other things people hung in their palaces to impose upon others with the same decorating sense. All Lana saw was a red haze burrowing in the back of her brain warning her to control her temper. While the nobles might enjoy a few fireworks here and there, a true unleashing of magic would send them all scampering to the winds, blowing whatever the plan was for the night. It would have been nice for her to have been included in a moment or two of it at least.

When she approached the mahogany door to the ballroom, Lana had managed to talk herself down to a calm. She hadn't seen any sign of the Inquisition for a few days, having taken her own horse and joined with another caravan of nobles bound for the Winter Palace. Hopefully they were already in place, or were about to arrive. Lana paused and snickered. It would be her luck that something changed mid-stream and they were off fighting Corypheus on the other edge of thedas while she diddled about with canapés and Orlesians.

"Madam." The palace's herald approached her and extended his scroll. Jabbing a finger at the list, he coughed from below his mask, unable to make any useful body language to tell her what he wanted. Maker, what was with this blighted country? In Ferelden, you just shouted you arrived, then ran off to see what was left on the meat table. Lana was probably supposed to have servants to handle such things, but she leaned over and whispered her name into his ear. He sniffed at her lack of decorum and seemed unperturbed at her name until he found her entry. That narrow patch of face visible below the porcelain nose paled so white she feared she might have to catch him. He coughed a few times, checked to make certain that wasn't some grave insult to her, then gestured she get in line.

Gathering up the fire skirts, Lana slipped behind a pair of women in matching emerald dresses. People lined the battlements along the dance floor. There was probably a more impressive term for the floors overlooking them bound back by railing, but she couldn't shake the thought of a condemned prisoner walking past rows of archers lining to take the kill shot. A few guards stood watch over the stairs, but nowhere near as many as she'd expected. Most of the guests mingled among themselves on the top floors. Despite their positions along the not-battlements, somehow every eye twisted around to watch the entrance, all to size up and pounce upon anyone who'd fallen down the pecking order. Jutting out her chest, Lana stared up at the chandelier hovering above the dance floor and fixed her face with grim determination.

"You have to take my arm," Whitley slipped close to her, his elbow knocking her in the side.

"Why?"

"It's tradition," he said nudging into her chest again as if she were an underripe fruit.

Growling under her breath, Lana touched his arm with only two of her fingers. She couldn't bring herself to get any closer. Whitley smiled at her and turned to gaze out at the proceedings himself.

"Should be a grand night," he whistled. "Your first time?" And yours, Lana mouthed under her breath but she was out of patience for the man and wanted this done with. Even speaking to him seemed a waste of strength. "Don't worry," the toad had the audacity to pat her arm, "I'll keep watch over you."

"Maker, give me strength," she muttered audibly, tipping her head back.

"Presenting Lady Solona Amell," the herald's voice boomed over the murmuring crowd. Her name didn't even warrant a skip in the small talk, the din rising in volume. Gathering up her skirts, Lana began the walk down the stairs with Whitley trailing beside her. The herald continued to read from the list of accomplishments Josephine gave him, "Arlessa of Amaranthine." That drew a few curious stares from the crowd. With a shore upon the Waking Sea, Amaranthine often did trade with Orlais and other neighboring city-states.

The herald coughed, and in a voice tinged with respect and pants-wetting awe he hollered, "Hero of Ferelden, conquerer of the Blight, and Warden Commander of the forces in Ferelden."

With a crash, the sea of whispers stilled to a dead drop leaving only silence in the waves. Lana kept her head held high as she crossed in front of every eye in the empire watching her, waiting to see what this mage only legends and tavern songs spoke of would do. She made it another five steps before the wave returned, people pointing in awe and surprise at the tiny woman out of myth crossing their ballroom floor. The herald continued to drone on with Whitley's meager accomplishments, but no one paid him any heed, their focus glared upon her. Lana paused at the landing and turned her head up to the imposing woman in the sapphire dress. For a brief second Lana wanted to ask her how she fit through doors, but she bit it back. Maker, her legs wobbled under the fire skirts. She wasn't good with nobility. The only one she ever had to deal with was Alistair and he put up with her brand of brashness because he had no choice. As did the rest of the royalty in Ferelden seeing as how she was the one who kept them in non-blighted lands. It made all of this pomp and circumstance much easier.

"You do us much honor with your presence, Hero of Ferelden," Empress Celene bobbed her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lana caught Whitley go stark white and try to bend at the waist. She caught the idea and curtsied deeply. "The honor is all mine, your majesty."

"We are curious, what drove you to accept our invitation after all these years?"

"Peace concerns us all, your highness, even the wardens," Lana lied through her teeth.

Celene blinked from below her mask. She turned briefly to the woman beside her. This second one spoke at the Empress' silent command, "And which way does the Warden's favor attend?"

"Whichever way brings safety to the lands of Orlais and southern thedas," Lana shouted out, then she tacked on, "my lady."

The woman sneered, but Celene chuckled, "A most careful answer. Please, enjoy the evening. We hope you find it satisfactory."

"I am certain I will, your highness," Lana curtsied again then headed for the stairs. People parted from her as if she carried the plague, women dragging upon the cuffs of men so they'd scurry out of her way. Whether it was because Lana was Ferleden, a warden, or a mage, she ignored all the panicked gasps and tried to get a sense for the landscape. The ballroom was about as gilded and silk encrusted as she'd expected, but fewer people than she anticipated circled around the area. Lana touched her face feeling naked with her bare skin on display. Twenty masks glanced towards her direction, each porcelain facade measuring her up.

Whitley yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his brow. "They tell me you are a mage," he tried to strike up a conversation with her. Why he was still following her she had not a clue.

"Is the they you mentioned named common sense?" Lana shot back. She whipped her head around; a familiar antivan accent broke above the conversation wave but she couldn't see Josephine. What Lana wouldn't give for Hawke's height right about now. Or her crowd clearing abilities.

"A quick tongue on you," the toad grinned. Lana's shoulders stiffened from the familiarity in his voice. She didn't respond, only continued to hunt through the crowd for a friendly face. "I have a passing fascinating with the arcane arts. Do tell me, have you found in your particular travels a way to create a love potion?"

Lana's posture snapped to steel as she turned upon the man. "A love potion?" her voice was pure ice, daring him to continue.

"Or spell. You know, something to increase the amorous affections from one in another. Think of the possibilities," Whitley grinned as if he'd stumbled into the next great idea to make him rich and put him in what he considered his deserved standing.

Despite being shorter, Lana loomed over the man speaking without a clue, "A love spell? You wish to alter a person's mind fully against their own wishes for your menial means?"

"For the sake of romance, of course."

"Ah," she lifted her head away in understanding, "yes. I know of what you speak. That is called blood magic and unless you want the chantry to strip you of every title you hold I would refrain from drawing upon this love potion concept of yours." Whitley squeaked from the threat of her barred teeth. Withering lower to the floor, he murmured something about the dangers of blood magic and how he was only postulating, of course. There was no possible chance he'd dare have anything to do with blood magic or its heathen ways. Lana smoothed down her hackles as best she could by turning away from the man. It was amazing he'd survived past his fortys with a flapping tongue attached to so little brain. The Orlesian nobility must think so little of him he's not even worth cannibalizing.

"Pardon, madame," a servant gently prodded into her arm. "Would you care for one?"

Lana slipped a smile on and reached for the plate when the smell smashed into her gut. Orange wedges decorated with candied cloves sat upon a leafy vegetable. The fist bundling up her skirts dug in deeper, pain keeping her grounded to the here and now. She tried to slide away politely, when Whitley scooped up one of the treats and bit into it. Orange acid and the juice splattered through the air to plop across Lana's cheek and every ounce of control in her body shattered. Panic clawed up from her gut with tendrils through her chest, each finger knocking against every one of her ribs until it wrapped around her throat and squeezed like a garrote.

She stumbled back from the smell, gasping to find fresh air, but the anxiety rattling in her brain wouldn't leave. People pressed around her, people who could split in half with a demon's claws. Intestines spilled upon the ground, blood splattering into the mud like gristly raindrops, and all around it the smell of oranges. Throwing her hand over her mouth, Lana ran for any direction she could find. She couldn't offer excuses, just dropped down her shoulder and barreled through the highest nobility Orlais had to offer. Rounding through a pair of doors, the night air stung her cheeks and froze the sweat percolating across her forehead. She stumbled into a banister and tried to ground herself, to will back the demons knocking about her heart. But it was too late. Bending over, Lana vomited up all the bile in her system over the Winter Palace's balcony. Her inner demons splattered against the ground three stories below her. Shaking and trembling from her shoulders down to her toes, Lana clung tight to the marble banister while the meager food she managed to eat earlier left her. At least no one was directly below; it was a small mercy.

Unfortunately, she wasn't alone on the balcony. "Oh dear, seems the Hero of Ferelden doesn't care for the food."

"Or cares too much for the wine."

"What would you expect from a dog lord?"

There was nothing left in her guts, but she kept her head hanging off the edge in case she was wrong. Cool air washed down her raw throat. She gulped it as if it was a refreshing mountain stream. Slowly, her mind came back from its precarious perch, dragging with it the embarrassing realization of what just happened.

A warm hand ran across her back and she snapped up expecting to find Whitley glowering at her, but she stared deep into amber eyes.

"Are you all right?" Cullen whispered, pressing his face close to hers.

Lana nodded, grateful that it was he who found her and no one else. Then she reared back, aware of the smell upon her breath. "I..." her eyes darted around the other people trying to politely listen in. Whispering in explanation, she gestured to one of the serving trays, "They have oranges here." She doubted he would remember her confession from four years ago, but Cullen blanched. His fingers dug into her shoulders, massaging away the knot she built up in about three seconds.

"Do you need some time?" he whispered.

"No, it's..." Her eyes darted up from the man she wasn't supposed to know to the one she wished she didn't. Whitley stood at the door, another three orange slices in his hand.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, as if concerned another man dared to wrestle in on his claim.

Lana slid back, her behind bumping into the banister. Any further and she'd fall right off the edge to join her meager dinner, but her brain was screaming at her to get away by any means necessary. Cullen turned upon Whitley and sneered, "This woman is ill. Fetch her something to drink. Now."

"I..." his eyes darted from Lana back to the commander who looked about to grab his legs and hurl him off the balcony. "Uh, right away. Sure." He jammed another orange in his mouth and scurried off.

Struggling down a calming breath, Lana returned to those amber eyes. "Thank you."

Cullen's fingers picked back up the massage as he turned his attention fully on her, "Are you okay to continue? If you need a moment or..."

"No, no, I am fine." She swallowed down the panic ringing in every nerve. "Going to have some wonderful nightmares I'm certain." She shrugged through the pain but Cullen grimaced, perhaps aware of a similar outcome in his life. "Maker, I hate oranges." Shaking her head as if that could reset her broken spirit, Lana slapped on smile, "What of the Inquisitor? I have not seen him. It seems my party was delayed outside for longer than others."

"He's investigating some information were received about the servant's quarters. Some disturbance involving halla statues and," Cullen bent low to whisper in her ear, "Venatori."

"Delightful," Lana spoke it with a laugh in her voice, but Cullen caught her true meaning. This wasn't going to be an easy night and it'd already begun on such a high note. His fingers pulsed against her skin three times more, grounding her away from the demons haunting her thoughts and back to the masked ones surrounding them. Her job was to blend in, to overhear what the Inquisition's forces could not and so far all she managed was to make a colossal fool of herself over some fruit. She had no idea what was happening within the machinations behind the scenes, and she wasn't supposed to be talking to the man caressing her birthmark. But she didn't have the strength or will to point that fact out. Andraste's tears, his strong fingers across her skin almost lulled her into a catatonic state. Like drifting away into a warm bath, Lana didn't want him to stop.

"Commander! Here you are!" a woman's high pitched voice screeched through the doors. Cullen's hand slipped off of Lana and he stepped aside, but she didn't miss the scowl knotting up his face.

"Commander," a second woman spoke, her voice even more babyish than the first, "we were so concerned when you vanished. You're missing out on the recent arrival of...Who is this?" Her eyes trailed across Lana and she gave a dismissive snort.

Lana smiled, "A woman of no import, I assure you. Just someone who cannot handle her wine. Thank you for your assistance, Commander Collin."

"Ah, Cullen actually," he said. Lana bobbed her head and she stepped between the two women. Both parted far from her as if terrified she might vomit upon their shoes next. Lana could make their night far worse than they could imagine, but she was in no mood to play their little games. The first thing she needed to find was a drink to clear out her throat, and then it was time she paid her respects to the Empress of Orlais. Word was Celene had a fascination with the arcane arts, and who better to dazzle her than the Hero of Ferelden?

Behind her she heard one of the women coo to the other, "Rather scrappy thing he was playing with, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't concern yourself. She doesn't even have a mask, no chance he'd affiliate himself with her."

Chuckling under her breath, Lana left Cullen to his own problems.


	10. Chapter 10

Whitley refused to leave her side. He'd managed to scrounge up three drinks from the servants, then tried to get her to consume them all at once. Either the man was truly mad or Cullen's glare withered a section of his brain. Lana paused in thought, the latter seemed likely. No matter how many times she sighed, growled, or elbowed Whitley in the stomach, he would not take a hint and leave her be while they stood in line to greet the Empress. It hadn't moved in over a half hour, but Lana was low on ideas and no one of importance wanted anything to do with her while the toad clung to her metaphorical sleeve.

"Why don't we try a dance or two, my lady?" Whitley moaned for the fifth time.

Lana shook her head, then tried to summon her own glare through his skull. She must not have the same powers as the commander because Whitley shrugged it off and snatched up another canapé off a passing tray. At least it wasn't an orange. Somehow they all mysteriously vanished from the floor. Lana kept a tight watch upon the servants not wishing to repeat her blunder, but sections of the color named fruit were nowhere in sight. Leliana's work?

The floor below them overflowed with the first round of dancers. Skirts frilled out in a defensive posture smashed into each other during turns. Men almost came to blows as a promenade turned into repeated knocks to the back of the head. One couple, so caught up in the twirling, kicked a shoe up into the air where it landed upon the chandelier and remained precariously perched. She'd almost enjoy the spectacle of nobility out playing itself if it weren't for the man clinging to her own skirt like a child the mother never cut off.

A rich voice caught Lana's attention and she turned away from the backs of the line in front of her to spy a woman reclining against the wall. No, not reclining, she leaned as if she owned the entire corner and was only allowing others to share in it. Lana slipped out of line, then turned to Whitley and ordered him to stay put. He pouted, of course, but she didn't have time for him. Rolling her piles of silk up, Lana stepped towards the most noble unnoble in the palace.

"Madam de Fer," she greeted, tipping her head in a modest bow.

"Why, Lady Amell," Vivienne smiled with that viper grin that was never honest and never a lie. "I am surprised to see you attending such a gala. I thought you wardens were more into digging in the ground and things of that nature." Her little posse chuckled from the joke, far more terrified of the First Enchanter turned apostate than some backwater slayer of an archdemon.

Lana smiled at the barb, aware how little it meant. She gestured to the same red frock that she spotted Cullen and later Dorian wearing. "I did not realize that you were working with the Inquisition."

"We all must do our part for...how did you put it? Peace. Such a delightfully quaint speech," Vivienne punctuated each sentence with a jab of a little silver fork rolled between her fingers. No one else in her group seemed to be holding one.

"I'm afraid we don't have elocution lessons in the deep roads. Darkspawn aren't known for their eloquence." A few of Vivienne's entourage chuckled at Lana's joke, but it drifted away as the First Enchanter rose from the wall to knot a hand around the interloper.

"May I ask you a personal question, Lady Amell?" Vivienne said. Her sweet mask slipped away and only the calculating general glittered on her face. Lana bobbed her head despite wanting to keep her personal secrets as far from Vivienne as possible. "Are you aware that your escort, Lord Whitley, has an almost pathetic interest in Duchess Malian?"

Lana's head twisted and she glanced back at the man she'd been trying to rid herself of for the past hour. "You do not say..."

"Oh yes, it's a terribly guarded secret. He lavishes her in flowers, sweets, formal declarations of attention. Practically drowned the poor woman in poetry once. But alas, his station is not so strong as hers." Vivienne's crafty eyes drifted to the side to meet Lana's, "If you hope to keep your most dashing escort away from her, I believe she is camped out in the humidor off the gardens."

She'd never met Madam de Fer before officially, but she'd heard of her. Hard to be a mage in southern thedas and not hear of Vivienne. Lana'd read a few of her books on knight-enchanters and communicated through very formal letters before the circles fell. There was no reason for Vivienne to be offering assistance beyond either despising the man the same as Lana or hating this Duchess Malian even more. "I thank you for your information, Madam de Fer. I will use it to the best of my ability."

Vivienne grinned, slapping back on her invisible mask, "See that you do, dear. Incidentally, given what occurred with the poor fool-hearted rebel mages, it seems you made the right choice in abandoning them all together."

So that was it. Lana heard rumblings of the feud between Vivienne and Fiona which began after the Grand Enchanter elections and simmered over until the rebellion, but she'd never felt love for either of them. As far as she was concerned, her blighted blood kept her out of the circle's business even when it was no longer the circle. Nodding at Madam de Fer, she returned to Whitley. The man was gesticulating at the shoe upon the chandelier and trying to knock it off with his glass.

Lana grabbed his wrist, pinning his arm back behind his head. He tried to throw her off, but she held him fast, her biceps straining against the leather cuffs. After a time, he put his weapon down. She could take the smooth approach to getting rid of the man, slip into conversation about the location of this poor woman, or... "Duchess Malian is located in the humidor off the gardens. Go and annoy her for the rest of the night."

"Malian?" Whitley squeaked, his eyes glazing over like a dog getting his belly scratched. "She's here. At this party. Alone?"

"I don't know if she's...yes, she's alone. In the humidor. Off the gardens. You should go find her. Now," Lana hissed.

Either enough of Cullen's warning remained in that word, or the man's lust broke through the addled part of his brain. Cupping his empty glass to his chest like a baby, he skittered out of line and dashed straight through to the vestibule. Lana about told him it was the other way, but honestly the man lost and wandering the grounds was just as good.

Now to wait alone in a line that seemed to never move. She'd been a great contribution so far to this operation. Lana pinched her nose, wishing she knew anything about Orlesian balls. Her job was to find anything out of the ordinary, but to her it was all odd. The servants kept speaking of food that tasted of emotions. That seemed as if it should be a Venatori thing, but the other Orlesians didn't even bat an eye at the cheese ball of contentment. The fade made more sense than this dance where table were often on the ceiling. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, trying to stretch the muscles in her neck.

A cold chuckle with no mirth rumbled near her ear. Memories of the kokari wilds, crumbling parchment, and a witch's hut pounded against her temples. Lana twisted her head to the side and the blood rushed from her face.

"You always were the type to take the long way around to a problem," Morrigan chuckled. Despite being surrounded by finery, Lana was surprised to find the mage in something other than her rags. Morrigan wasn't the type to do what people expected of her unless she wished it. The dress at least was imposing. Pulling on her glove, she then smoothed down her dress before beaming a yellow glare through Lana.

"I..." Lana started.

"Come," Morrigan waved her hand, "I can get you to Celene, assuming that is what you still wish." Lana stepped out of line with the witch, but Morrigan didn't lead her to the balcony in the far distance where a sapphire dress spun about not intending to speak with anyone. Instead, the witch rounded back through the landing above the dance floor. Whispers followed in their wake, but she was uncertain who drew them.

"What are you doing here?" Lana asked, falling into step beside Morrigan.

"I could ask you the same question. I did not think the Hero of Ferelden ever left those lands."

"It's been a complicated couple of months," Lana said, "but I am glad you are here."

Morrigan's porcelain face cracked and a whisper of a smile broke through, "And I am heartened to see you as well, if only it were under better circumstances."

Lana snorted, "There's no such thing in my life."

"Indeed," the witch slipped beside the banister overlooking the dance floor and gazed down. Normally, this spot was crammed with people watching the dancers waiting for their turn but the section seemed to clear as if by magic, or magical reputation.

"How are you?" Lana asked. She gripped onto the cold marble with her fingers and leaned over. To the world it appeared as if she was enraptured with the dancing, but she kept glancing over at the woman beside her.

Morrigan cast her usual disapproving look over the proceedings. "Curious you show an interest in me given the workings of the world at the moment. But, to answer your question, I am well."

"And your...the boy?" Lana's voice didn't jump; she showed no signs of pain or regret in the question, only honest curiosity.

"He is good, despite his mother's reputation among the members of the court." A few of those members glared daggers at the witch from across the room and Morrigan only stared through them.

"They know then? The court, Celene?"

"That I have a son, the rest...is none of their concern."

Lana nodded, "Smart."

Morrigan's cruel smirk twisted away and she broke from challenging those that dared question her. Those haunting eyes drifted across Lana studying her profile as if she was a curious butterfly about to be pinned to a board. "I admit, you still surprise me."

"Oh? The dress wasn't my idea," Lana said.

"I assumed. Regarding my son, when I proposed my plan to you, I partially expected you to refuse."

Lana broke from her half assed stare across the ballroom to turn and face Morrigan. She was still as beautiful as an ice storm, but a warmness burned behind the pupils of her yellow eyes. Was that her son's doing or time itself? "Why would I refuse?"

"Jealousy, given the circumstances of it. I've found most people become woefully attached to such trivial matters and strike out at any perceived threat to their claim."

"Ah, well, if you remember I no longer had any claim to make at that point," Lana spat out.

"He always was an idiot, that merely cinched the deal," Morrigan said. Lana had to agree with that. She understood at the time, was more heartbroken than she'd thought possible, but she could convince herself he was trying to be kind. But to do it before he even took the damn crown, before they'd defeated the archdemon. It was as if he wanted to enrage her, hoped for her to push him off the tower and end his misery for him.

Morrigan seemed to sense the same thought, "I also feared you would refuse out of a need to strike back against him."

Lana snorted. Even now, when he'd broken her heart anew and into more grisly pieces, she still couldn't hurt him. Not even the way he hurt her. "Do you want to know why I took you up on your request? There were three grey wardens in all of Ferelden. One of us had to survive, had to make sure to reach the archdemon or all of Ferelden maybe even thedas could fall." Lana turned back to gazing over the ballroom. She caught the flash of a red frock coat as the Inquisitor spun about that important woman in white. "It was a simple case of maths."

Morrigan chuckled, "I knew you were practical."

"I try at least," Lana said.

"Well," she leaned closer, "you should know that there are rumblings of an unexplained occurrence in the western wing. Something that would interest the Inquisition greatly."

"Except I'm not with the Inquisition," Lana said.

Morrigan beamed her viper smile at Lana and jerked her chin, "Right, of course not. Just as I am not with the Orlesian court. Still, it would be wise for a person without any associations to look into it." The witch began to slide away from Lana, her gloves running along the banister as if checking it for dirt.

"Morrigan," Lana rose up to face her, "thanks."

She bowed her head, and the yellow eyes flared alive again, "I am only doing my small part." And without any fanfare, the Empress' arcane adviser drifted back into the crowd. Lana could spot her moving through it by the gap in people scrambling to not run into her. Maker only knew what small part Morrigan was playing in all this, but Lana felt more at ease knowing at least she was here. She never had a clue what Morrigan was thinking or even if she was on anyone's side than her own, but as strange as it sounded, she knew she could trust her.

Lana glanced around the crowds, taking new stock on who moved through it. She'd spotted Josephine earlier, who had managed to wall herself off behind five other diplomats all of them comparing notes on how to destroy all of thedas with a single pen stroke. Leliana haunted back and forth around the ballroom, the nightingale singing her own song to charm nobles to the Inquisition's cause. It would probably take her most of the night to flag down her friend, and judging by the urgency in Morrigan's voice there may not be much time. What she needed was...Ah.

She heard the voice sighing above the lull in the ever encroaching din. "No, thank you." Tittering ladies traded elbows as they crowded around the poor man in red backed against the wall. Cullen frowned, massaging his temples, but he couldn't see Lana hidden behind a sea of feathered caplets and complicated wigs.

"Oh, Commander," one of the women giggled her words so terribly she sounded like a mule about to knee a farmer. "You cannot prop up that wall all night."

"I intend to try," he sighed again.

"Come now, one dance will not kill you," another lady spoke up. This one wore one of the filagree masks, but had powder so thick upon her face she may as well have covered it in full. Lana haunted the edges of the group surrounding the commander, unable to find a break in their defenses. Whenever she moved to slip her head through a gap, the women crushed together to block her off. Cullen was too enraptured with staring at the ceiling to notice.

"I'd prefer to not risk it," Cullen snickered. The ladies giggled as if he told the greatest joke in all of thedas which only earned them a slow blink.

Right, so much for politeness. Lana cracked into the fade, drawing forth a spattering of energy, nowhere near enough to cause any real damage. She placed her hands next to the women and spread them wide. The women parted like a river meeting a rock and she slipped through them. Both women blinked in shock, struggling to figure out how this insubordinate newcomer snuck into their ranks. Even if they had any sense of magic breaking into the world, her interference was already fading away back to where it came. Lana folded her hands and caught the surprised eye of the commander who must have tasted her magic in the air.

"La...lady, my lady?" he stuttered.

She reached out a hand and he instinctively took it, "Dance with me, Commander."

"Ha!" the women she shoved aside snickered behind her.

"As if he dare waste his time with some turnip farmer."

Cullen glared at the women, then snapped back at Lana. He twisted his head in a question. "You will find it...most beneficial," she said.

"I, of course, certainly." He placed his barely touched drink down on a side table and gave in to her. Gripping tighter to his hand, Lana led him through the woman now tossing their heads as if about to charge at the indignity. Cullen lagged behind her like an obstinate child down the stairs until they slipped onto the dance floor. Couples twirled in terrifying step past them, the music reaching a tempo somewhere in a panicked heartbeat range. Her plan suddenly seemed a lot less wiser than before. She had only managed to learn three, maybe four steps in her time as an Arlessa. The speed with which the others were flying past, it looked as if one could break a leg or shatter a kneecap if you slipped in formation for even a moment.

Then, as dramatically as the song began it ended and a mercifully slow one sang mournfully from the strings. Thank the Maker. Lana tugged her partner out into the sea of people hugging the edge. His body, normally under tight control to a fantasy inducing degree, hung awkwardly off his tight shoulders.

"I'm not much of dancer," Cullen admitted, a blush ruddying up his cheeks.

She chuckled, picked up his hand, placed it upon the small of her back, then grabbed onto his shoulder. "Don't worry, neither am I."

"Then why..." he began, but the mournful ballad picked up and together the uncertain pair moved into the churning sea of other dancers. For claiming to have no skills, Cullen kept his eyes upon Lana and his feet from treading on her toes. After a few beats, he fell into the rhythm pulsing through the floor. She felt it radiating up her bones, the bass line dragging her body back to the thrill of directing a vial of lyrium into raw magical energy. This was its own kind of power, the formation of armies, the lock step twist of the nobility fluffing itself out to see who was strongest. And she got to intercede into the display while clinging to Cullen. His arm drew tighter across her back, pulling her body closer to his.

"I suspect your little cheering crowd is planning my demise at this very moment," Lana snickered.

"They will never leave me alone now," Cullen grumbled, then he blinked in guilt, "But, this is nice. I always enjoy holding you and then the dancing. Not so much the dancing part, but..."

Sweet Andraste, she wanted to kiss away his stammer, but that'd put her on a death list for certain. Instead she cut him off, "I didn't drag you out here for my own selfish needs."

"Oh?" a hint of regret threaded through his words.

"Where is the Inquisitor?"

"Investigating a lead from Florienne," Cullen twisted her around in a half circle, but was unwilling to risk anything more complicated. "Why?"

"Morrigan found me. She said there's a disturbance in the west wing of the palace. Something that would interest the Inquisition."

Cullen's eyes snapped down to hers, the blush evaporated away, "The west wing? That's where we're sneaking in our people. No wonder so few are moving in already. We have to get them..." he began to slide away from her, but Lana clung tighter.

"No, no, keep dancing. We have to look as if there isn't a problem in the world, remember?"

He growled, but resumed the dance. "I hate this. There is no point to my being here other than to provide entertainment for the Orlesian nobility."

"Is it so bad?" she asked. With Cullen distracted, another couple swung up from behind them and almost nicked into Lana's shoes. She dodged out of the way by pressing her chest into his. Cullen's arm reached fully around to hold onto her hip upon the other side. It was probably to keep her from knocking him over, but as the couple drifted away, he didn't let go and she didn't want him too.

"It is worse than I described. I've answered repetitive questions about my personal life so many times I fear I've gone deaf from the echo."

"I'm certain they're all well papered ladies up there," Lana pulled their conjoined hands closer to her chest. There was very little room for any spirits between them now.

Cullen snorted, "You make them sound like mabari."

"No, I would never. Mabari are useful." That earned her a proper laugh and those golden eyes beamed into hers. She ached to kiss him, to have his hands thread through her hair and pull back her head. Instead, she shrugged, "I'm certain one of them would make a proper wife."

"They're playing," Cullen scoffed, "prodding into the new toy until the next one comes along."

"Why commander, you are full of surprises," Lana smiled. "It took me nearly three months before I figured out that's what the nobility was trying to do to me."

His cheeks beamed with pride and he slipped lower to whisper in her ear, "Besides, my interests lie elsewhere."

"Corypheus," Lana responded, bobbing her head.

"Ah, right, Corypheus," his body stiffened below her fingers and he stood upright. Duty was the best chaperon they had. Lana glanced over at the women now willing death through their eyes upon the woman who dared to steal the object of their sudden attention away. She smirked, then turned to Cullen, "Spin me."

"I'm not certain if..."

"Trust me," she said. He lifted his arm and gave a rather good attempt at it, but Lana rose up on her toes to smack nose first into his arm.

It wasn't very hard, only the lightest of knocks, but Cullen broke his grip on her to cry out, "Maker, I'm sorry."

Lana rubbed her nose, "It's all right." She grabbed onto the commander and let him get in a few more steps before she pulled her next move. When he stepped a bit too close, Lana yelped and yanked her foot back. For added effect, she hopped up and down on one leg.

"What did I...your foot?" he gestured to her hobbling.

"Pay it no heed," Lana said, returning to the dance.

"I warned you, I am no dancer," he said, guilt radiating off him.

Breaking from the plan for a moment, Lana ran the back of her fingers against his cheek ruffling up that scruff he couldn't bother to shave away from the night. The regret slipped away and he glanced up from his stupor to her twinkling eyes. For a brief second she let her fingers trail towards his lips. Cullen kissed them softly. Drum and bass faded away until only the final beats of the lute hummed through the air. The song was coming to its end. It was now or never. "Dip me." Lana pulled her hand away from his cheek.

"This is unwise," he said, shaking his head.

"I have faith," she assured him. Fingers digging into her spine, Cullen bent her backwards, Lana extending deeper until her fingers could skim the floor.

"Drop me," she whispered. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she felt eyes in the palace swinging towards the woman in a backwards swan dive.

"You cannot be serious," he shook his head, unwilling to break his hold even as she felt him straining from her weight.

"Trust me," Lana whispered. Blood pooled in her brain from the extended dip, causing the edges of her vision to undulate as if in a smokey haze. Cullen lurched forward, his fingers almost breaking contact on accident. He gritted his teeth and released his hold. Lana parted the fade slightly to cushion her fall, but to anyone watching on the periphery it looked as if Cullen's dance partner smashed to the floor. She lay upon it for a moment acting dazed. Cullen extended a hand to her, a thousand apologies dripping from his lips. Lana took it and made a show of massaging her back.

"Why did you...? Are you all right? Hurt? How was...?" Cullen begged for an explanation.

Lana's eyes whipped up to the women who'd surrounded the commander the entire night. They sniffed in disgust at his poor display and wandered off for new prey. Still wide eyed, he watched them then turned back to Lana who was smiling, "You're welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a west wing to investigate."

She slipped off the dance floor and faded into the background while the not-quite-so dashing commander was free to return to his drink unimpeded.


	11. Chapter 11

Only the glow from the towering windows highlighted the silent courtyard. Shafts of light reflected upon the gilded visage of Hessarian's regretful face bent into his hand. Lana glanced back at the bodies of the guards tossed to the ground, cold blood pooling off their throats into the grout of the marble tiles. Whoever did it made the cut clean and quick but judging from how they fell, the attack wasn't from behind. The guards didn't bat at eye at the person who walked up to them and slit their throats. This party got a lot more complicated.

Slipping the door closed, Lana stepped into the courtyard. Three levels of the Winter Palace circled above her, each balcony walled off by white railing. Ivy clung between them making climbing impossible, not that she was going to manage to shimmy up a trellis in her dress. It'd also cause a horrific amount of noise. Sticking to the shadows, she tried the handle of the first door to her right but it stuck fast, the second beside it the same. Out of all the times she didn't think to bring a rogue... Lana tapped her foot, trying to decide if she should risk the time finding Leliana when a scream broke through the frozen night air. Snapping her hands up and calling forth the fade energy, Lana traced the cry to the story above her.

A shadow flapped against the cloudy night, its silhouette darker than the grey sky. The creature landed upon Hessarian's head and screamed again, the crest of feathers upon its head vibrating from the call. Great, she was sent here to find a bloody peacock that was now shitting all over the tevinter magister. Lana smiled at the fitting image wishing she could frame it for Corypheus. This is what we think of your rise to power. The bird gave the mage who almost roasted it alive no heed as it extended its wings and again cried into the night.

Another scream answered it. Not a mate returning the call, this one was low and tucked into the chest - like someone struggling against a gag - and very human. Gathering up her damn skirts, Lana dashed towards the sound emanating from the opposite side of the courtyard. The handle to the door was melted clean through, re-solidified drips of metal dangling through the hole as if someone used a rod of fire on it. Pushing softly on the door, Lana risked peering only an eye inside. Blackness was all that afforded her on either end. Placing both hands against the door, Lana opened it slowly while trying to minimize the noise. She stepped across the threshold when that cursed bird took wing and flew/plummeted almost into her face. Ducking to avoid her eyes getting scratched out, the peacock didn't care a whit. Its body crashed to the floor with a wallop, but the thing rolled back onto its feet and it waddled away.

"What was that?" a voice called out from the darkness of the hall. Lana dashed to the wall where her fingers found the lip of a table. Cursing her dress and her wound, she shrunk low. The leather corset was having none of her bending over, so she dropped to her knees and scurried under.

"It was nothing." The first man spoke Orlesian but the second was Tevinter. She'd only managed to pick up the tourist version of the language from her quick travels, which was rather pathetic as she read the damn thing fluently. No one ran towards her from the inky darkness, so Lana slipped out from under the table and inched towards the voices.

"No, I heard something, I swear," the Orlesian insisted. Lana froze as the clip of boots echoed across a marble floor. To the left of her down a long hall, the only slip of light peeked out from under a door. She focused upon it while sliding forwards, stifling all noise as best she could. Zevran was good for learning a few tricks. "I'm gonna check."

"Be my visitor," the Tevinter said, or something close to it.

The light under the door broke open revealing a burning fireplace which framed the shadow of a fully armed and armored man. He glared into dark night before him. "I think I see...AH!" the Orlesian shrieked. Lana reached into the fade, tugging at her mana and driving for her trusty ice spells. More boots clattered upon the floor as the Tevinter dashed to the Orlesian's side, a staff in his hands.

"There's something out there," the Orlesian pointed a finger down the hallway.

Lana cursed under her breath. One she could take on easily, but a tevinter mage... She'd only faced them down once before and had had a templar at her side. For the first time in a year, she wished Alistair was here. She shifted her feet underneath her, attempting to rise as quickly as possible, when a scattering of tiny feet clicked down the marble. The Orlesian shrieked again as the full fury of an interrupted and probably libidinous peacock dashed down the hall and leapt for the man's face. He tumbled back, batting at the thing with his hands while the Tevinter laughed.

"You fool, it is a chicken."

"It's not a damn chicken, it's some void spawned bird. Get it off me!" he screamed, talons digging into that meaty face.

"Well, hold point," the Tevinter sighed. He waved his staff towards the bird, but the peacock must have sensed it was about to be attacked and flew off deeper into the room. Both men turned away from the dark hallway into the bright light of the room to chase the bird.

Rising to her feet, Lana slipped off her shoes and padded with a sure stride towards them. With each step she threaded every ounce of the fade into her body, channeling it down to one spell. If she was lucky, she could hit both at once. If she was unlucky...it was best to hope for luck. The Tevinter tossed a few haphazard ice shards where the peacock was instead of where it was going while the Orlesian chased after it, his arms flapping in the air and missing by miles. Both chuckled at their being outwitted by a bird, when the Orlesian hopped up to catch the peacock and landed facing out the door. He must have only been able to see the silhouette of a woman standing there, Lana cloaked in the darkness.

He raised his finger, about to call to the Tevinter. Lana rolled both her hands together and cast the men into a crushing prison. The Orlesian screamed first, his head thrown back in agony. The sound of his bones shattering and popping like kindling on the fire stampeded over the shrieks falling silent as his body compacted down in upon itself. After a time, the neck would snap leaving nothing left to scream. Exhaustion rolled up Lana's legs and across her chest, trying to yank down her arm to cancel the spell, but she gritted through it. Maintaining one crushing prison was child's play, but two. She rarely tried it outside of extreme measures, and the Tevinter was fighting her. While the Orlesian cracked in half like a matchstick boy, the Tevinter twisted his arm around, trying to aim his staff at Lana. She bit down on her tongue and drew forth more power from the fade, enough to light all of the Winter Palace on fire. In a quick move, she dropped the crushing prison, momentarily releasing the men, then smashed an invisible fist from the ceiling into their mutilated bodies. The Orlesian was gnarled, his lips frozen in a scream, the eyes lifeless. But the Tevinter moaned, struggling to breathe through Maker knew how many shattered ribs.

Lana turned away from them to the woman perched upon the floor. Her hands were bound behind her and she was gagged, though she managed to work the towel out enough to let out that first scream. The Inquisition's symbolic eye gleamed off her chest. Snatching up the dead Orlesian's sword, Lana undid the bounds upon her wrists. The woman yanked off the gag, then spat in the direction of the men.

Her wrath didn't fade, but she slipped it onto the back burner while eyeing up Lana, "Thanks. I assume you're Inquisition, too."

"Something like that," Lana said. "Incognito."

The woman rolled her eyes. She moved to stand, but tipped to the side. Lana grabbed onto her hand to help her to her feet. "Bastards had me tied up for near an hour." Steadied now, the woman yanked her stolen scabbard off the floor and unsheathed her sword. "That one dead?" she asked, gesturing to the Orlesian. Lana nodded. "That one ain't." Before Lana could object, the woman kicked the Tevinter mage over. With a quick thrust, she slit his throat. "Fucking Venatori," she muttered. "I swear, their blood's poisoned or some shit. It'll stain your blade fast if you don't clean it." She yanked up the bottom of the dead mage's robe and wiped his own blood back upon it.

"What's your name..." Lana's eyes hunted over the uniform for a sign of rank, "lieutenant?"

"Andrea, ma'am. And I was supposed to see our people into the palace. Easy and quick job until these jackasses popped up."

"Lana," she pointed at herself. "What can you tell me about them?"

"Venatori, at least six. Maybe more. We sure as shit weren't expecting an attack and they caught us blindsided while shimmying over the gate."

"You climbed the gate?" Lana thought back to the twelve foot tall iron fence circling the grounds topped with proper Orlesian spikes.

"Weren't nothing," Andrea shrugged. "Not until it's all ice this and fire that. Mages," she spat, then blinked at Lana, "excusing present company."

Lana chuckled, "Oh, I'm far worse than them. Do you know how to fight Venatori?"

Andrea narrowed her eyes at Lana and she slapped back on her scabbard, "Aye, why are you asking?"

"Because I haven't encountered them before. I need you to tell me every single trick they have." Lana kicked over the body of the mage and picked up his staff. It was fancier than she preferred, indentations carved into the handle for fingers to fit and whittled through the middle to give the illusion of a shapely column which rendered the integrity of the core brittle. Pretty to gaze upon, but ascetics didn't kill darkspawn. She hovered her fingers over the top searching for any hidden curses built in by the owner but nothing popped up. Either the Tevinter didn't believe anyone would defeat him and steal his staff, or he cheated the carver. Twisting it around in her arms, Lana got a feel for the staff. There was no blade, only a weighted edge bulging off the bottom. With enough force it should crack a few bones.

"This will do," she pronounced. "Take me to the rest of your people."

"Of course, but," Andrea jerked her finger towards the edge of the room, "what should we do with the bird?" The peacock screamed at them in response then haphazardly flapped up to land upon a bust over the door.

"I suspect it's just as happy as we are to have the invaders gone." Lana bowed slightly to the bird, earning a sigh from the lieutenant, and dashed back into the hall. She slipped on her shoes while Andrea directed her down the blackened hallway, around the corner, down another light-less hall, and past a statue of some famous Orlesian.

"Hold up here!" Andrea tugged on Lana's dragon wing sleeve and shout-whispered. "Last I saw they had our people tied up outside this door."

"Why weren't they killed?" Lana asked.

Andrea shrugged, "Dunno. Not gonna question their great big plan if it keeps my people alive, though. They wanted me to give the signal to the others, send 'em all through so they could pick 'em off."

"What'd you do?"

She smiled wide, her teeth glinting in the scrap of moonlit, "Bit one's nose off, kicked the other in the knee. Was aiming a bit higher, but you take what you can get. Since I wouldn't play nice, they bundled me off to their little parlor while trying to convince the rest of my people they killed me."

Lana glared through the dark night trying to see past the wood. Why wouldn't the Venatori slit everyone's throats? It made the most sense to knock off the soldiers fast unless...unless they planned to blame the Inquisition for the Empress' death. Perhaps not enough for a proper conviction in any court but it would seed chaos among a mourning country. "We have to get them back, all of them."

Andrea eyed her up, "That was my plan all along."

"Right, good. Venatori, what's their main school of magic? Entropy? Primal? Spirit?"

The lieutenant blinked slowly at her and leaned back, "Fire."

"Fire?"

"Lot of fire, one of them does this sprint spell that leaves a wake of fire behind him. Melts the boots if you're not quick to leap away. Damn pain in the ass. Do you have any idea how expensive resoling is?"

Lana slipped her eyes closed and leaned into the door. A sound echoed through the wood, but it was muffled and incoherent. Could be Tevinter, but was just as likely to be two lost Orlesian party guests taking a piss in the bushes. What she needed was a view of the surroundings to plan the attack. "Could you...?"

"Find a vantage point? Yeah, I've already got an idea." Andrea unearthed a dagger from her belt and jabbed it into the mortar between bricks. What was she doing? That would take hours to dig out enough... The brick lifted upon her blade and carefully the lieutenant drew it back, exposing the courtyard beyond the door. "They always leave peepholes around these places. Orlesians and their games. Here, have a look-see."

Lana scooted to take Andrea's place, dropping to a knee to eye up the courtyard. It was much the same as the one she spotted the peacock in, though this had a statue of Andraste bathed in flame. Rather fitting. Trussed up at her feet were Inquisition soldiers, their heads bent as if in defeat but she suspected they were trying to share signals without their captors catching on. From her narrow window she could only see the taloned shoes of two Venatori pacing in front of them. One carried a staff which he kept banging into the ground every other step. Good way to completely destabilize the aura. Lana clicked her tongue at the bravado then tried to lay flatter upon the ground to get a look at the upper floor.

"Damn, I can't see if there are any archers."

"Three on the roof, though one of 'ems always facing the south," Andrea repeated. "What? I was just out there."

"Three archers, one soldier, and a mage."

"There's another mage, that one's hiding by the fence trying to coo the others over." Andrea shook her head then slipped into a Tevinter accent, "Oh, please Inquisition soldiers, I am one of your own who's talking real funny because I'm new and have a terrible cold cough cough. Won't you come and play with me?" She spat at the ground, "Twat."

"Do you think you can get to the roof?" Lana asked.

"Sure, if you give a minute to find the ladder. Got a plan, do ya?"

"Yep," she bobbed her head. Maker, if Cullen ever found out she'd never hear the end of it. "I'm going to be the bait."

The lieutenant skittered off into the dark, leaving Lana alone with the hope that the woman would make good on her promise. She seemed prepared to fight the Venatori to the death if it came to it, but Lana counted on her fingers the dozens of ways her plan could fail. In the distance, the splat of something smacking into the wall echoed through the dark room. The lieutenant was either climbing the ladder or building a stack of bodies to get to the roof. Rising to her feet, Lana tested the balance of the staff again. She'd only get one, maybe two seconds before they'd all come at her. Dipping into the fade, she threaded the beginning of a spell along the staff's core. It wasn't the wisest of moves as it could reset an entire enchantment leaving the staff drained and little better than a piece of wood. But she'd taken to storing spells in her own for years, aware of how far she could push the limits of magic before it snapped back. Still, she yanked her fingers away before putting the last touches upon it. Given how lightweight the wood felt, it seemed unwise to trust the staff to contain any magic that powerful.

Smoothing down her skirts that were now wrinkled beyond repair, Lana placed her hand on the door and shoved it open with all the certainty of a drunk noble wandering through someone else's home. Both Venatori snapped up at her intrusion, but they didn't run right for her.

"This area is off limits," the sword one shouted.

"Oh, sorry. I seem to be terribly lost and..." Lana's eyes drifted down towards the soldiers tied up against the statue's base, "wandered into a side party, I see."

The mage hissed something in such a thick accent Lana couldn't translate it. But judging by the way his eyes lit up, she could about guess it amounted to 'kill the intruder.' They were never very creative. "No, she might be connected to the duchess," the one with the sword said.

Lana lifted up her hands, holding the staff by a barest grip and stepped backwards, "I'll just be going now." Damn it, she needed to stall for more time. The archers should have hit the roof by now. Lana didn't glance back at them, but she could feel the pairs of eyes digging into her back.

"Hold a moment," a new voice oozed around the corner. This Venatori towered above the other two, her blonde hair knotted around her neck like a snake. She sized up the tiny woman and sneered, "Why are you carrying a staff?"

"Is that what this is?" Lana yanked the staff towards her face, and eyed it up. "I stumbled across it on the ground and thought this would make a lovely decoration for my..." Shit, what idiotic thing do the nobility decorate to waste space, "stick room."

"A likely story," the woman sneered. Her fist crackled with fire. At least, Andrea got that one right. She lifted it high to aim for Lana, when a man screamed above them all. His body slammed into the roof and slid bumping along the tiles until it splattered against the stone tiles beside the Tevinter's feet. "Someone is above us!"

Show time. As the two mages aimed for Andrea, Lana yanked out her half spun spell and wrapped it together with the rest. Before they could even break into the fade, she smashed the first mage and the swordsman with a blast of ice powerful enough to freeze golems. Most of the force broke against the mage, dousing his flames instantly. Enough scattered along the side to freeze the man's sword. Redoubling her attack, Lana threw ice shards at it, shattering the sword. Metal splinters erupted from the hilt, flying through the air. Three dug into the frozen man's face, the last impaling his eye.

"Kaffas!" the female mage cursed. She raised up her fist and tossed a fireball at Lana. The first rolled off her barrier, but she felt the heat of the second light up her cheeks. She hadn't fully frozen the other two, but if she didn't raise up her barrier anew, the next fireball would blister her skin. Glaring at the mage, Lana rolled her shoulder around dragging the staff with and directed an ice bolt directly at the Tevinter's hands. The woman dashed out of the way, missing the brunt, but Lana's attack extinguished her fireball sending flame skittering across the cobbles. Another body screamed from on top of the roof. Two archers down, one more to go. Lana had to hold up her end of the bargain.

Dipping deeper into the fade, she cut off her ice and smashed down upon the frozen men. The swordsman crashed to the ground, broken beyond belief, while the mage bounced back from the fade fist. Lana flipped her staff around and aimed at the female mage protecting him. She fired off two bolts, but the woman responded in kind with her fire. The first seared along the ivy behind Lana but the second caught against her skirts. Smoke burned up her nose and strangled her lungs while heat blistered up her legs. Rather than panic, Lana turned her staff down at her feet and fired. The ice wiped away the fire, leaving charred edges along the silk of her borrowed dress.

"Oh, now you're dead," Lana hissed. The woman chuckled, unimpressed by her rather wimpy display.

"Yes, I am certain one little mage will defeat the Venatori."

"I don't have to kill the Venatori." Lana tugged upon that darkness inside everyone, the edge she'd only touch when backed into a corner. It split open her soul and poured forth the magic she needed, the one that could easily tip her another way. "I only have to kill you." The woman re-enforced her barrier against magical attacks, but Lana didn't toss ice her way. Instead, she dashed at the woman, her head bent downward to redirect the blow to her shoulders.

"By all the..." was as far as the Venatori got before Lana's momentum plowed her directly into the fence behind. The Tevinter's head knocked against the wrought iron knocking free her own spell. Clinging to the woman's bent shoulders, Lana poured every ounce of death hex into her body. Lana slipped back from her victim and watched. At first the Venatori only shook her head, trying to dislodge the song buzzing through her thoughts, but then the pain increased, her panicked heart beating faster and faster as it struggled against the impending doom shredding apart every fiber of her body. The woman tossed her head back and screamed. Her fingers reached into the fade, trying to dispel what Lana burned into her veins, but every attempt was met by another throb of pain.

Lana weighed the staff in her hands, but the damn thing was so light. Reaching along the ground, she picked up one of the sword's shards glittering in the moonlight like puddles. The woman roiled upon her knees, trying to claw her hair out to stop the pain. Lana knocked her head back, exposing her throat. "Sorry," she said and slit the jagged edge across it. The metal snagged upon her larynx, sticking in place, but blood gushed from her veins blanketing the marble tiles that portrayed Andraste's betrayal.

Stepping back from the mage bleeding out, Lana breathed to steady herself. Her wound twitched below her corset, the pain throbbing through her dry throat. She was going to need a long bath after this night. A sound broke through the night and Lana flipped around. The no longer frozen mage stood behind her. His arms were extended above his head, about to bring his staff across Lana's skull. She tried to dodge out of the way, when both his arms fell, the staff tumbling to the ground. He plummeted to the ground and clattered to his side, an arrow embedded in his back.

"Hey," Andrea called from the roof. She tossed aside the stolen bow and inched closer, "I see you got yours."

"And you got yours," Lana called back waving.

"'Course I did," she scoffed. "Check on my people while I try to find a way off this damn thing."

Lana saluted the woman who already vanished from sight. Using the same edge she had to cut the Venatori's throat, Lana broke the soldier's bonds and helped them up. Thanks were passed around like candy, each soldier massaging their arms and working out the cricks in their neck. No one spoke a word against her magic, though maybe they were becoming used to fighting beside a mage. Strange times.

As Andrea skidded around the corner, she slapped her hand to her chest, "Look at you all, lazing about. We've got a dance to infiltrate." The soldiers looked ashamed while they dug out their weapons and slotted them back into place.

Lana wiped sweat off her forehead and leaned against the flames of Andraste. Her own skirts were in quite a state, the sides burned so high a slit came up to her thigh. Josephine was going to kill her.

"If you're done being captured," the lieutenant continued, "we need to be finding the Commander. Hop to it!" The soldiers saluted their brash leader, then fanned out towards the doorway.

Lana rose off her lean and gripped tighter to the staff. Something told her whatever was about to happen in the ballroom wouldn't afford her an easy evening. "It never ends," she said to Andrea.

The woman laughed, "Of course not. We're trying to save the world here."

* * *

Lana entered the ballroom at the back of the press crowded around Celene. The Empress towered above her subjects scattered around her in various states of adoration. She glowed from the moonlight's ray spotlighting her sapphire gown, more than likely a specific choice from the Empress. Rising to her tiptoes, Lana tried to find anyone of the Inquisition hiding amongst the throngs. She spotted Andrea and her group emerging through the side door, each one armed for a battle that had yet to appear. Somehow they became separated dashing down the maze of corridors, putting Lana an even further distance away until she doubled back.

A flash of red flitted through the crowds and then the Inquisitor's voice rang out above Celene's. "Stop Floriene! She means to kill the Empress!" Pandemonium struck. Lana lost sight of Celene and the Duchess as smoke bombs deployed across the entire ballroom. Nondescript guests yanked off their dancing gowns to reveal harlequin outfits hidden below. The plumes of smoke hung in the air stinging her eyes and trying to claw down her throat, but Lana wiped it away with a flick of her wrist. Through it all echoed screams from guests terrified of the smoke or the daggers slipping into kidneys. She had to get to the Empress, see what she could do to help or defend. Tipping her shoulder down, the little mage barreled through the crowd like she was a rampaging druffalo. Maker, she wished Hawke was here. Her cousin could pick her up on her shoulders or grab one of the clowns to use as a battering ram. Panicking orlesians shrieked nonsense in the first tongue they could think of all around her. The cacophony rattled her brain rendering any attempts to hear orders mute. Some grabbed onto Lana, begging her to solve the problem, others tried to knock her away as if she was another harlequin stabbing indiscriminately to create chaos.

She peeled off a set of fingers, only to whip around towards a harlequin driving her daggers through a soldier's thigh. Lana snapped ice at the woman's hands, sending the first dagger skittering through the air, but she held tight to the other and pirouetted in the air towards at the mage. That disturbing mask betrayed no emotion as the harlequin passed her blade from hand to hand trying to intimidate Lana. She drew it back, ready to strike, when a sword slammed into her ribs, the point prodding out of the skin tight suit.

Andrea yanked it back and kicked the harlequin's body to the floor. "Ugh, who invited this lot?"

"I need to get to Celene!" Lana gestured at the stampeding nobles funneling them away from her endpoint.

"Got it." The lieutenant turned back to her soldiers, "Gonna need a five-tenner. You up for some running?"

Lana kicked both her shoes off and nodded. The only good thing about the skirts being burned, at least she didn't have to pick them up anymore.

"All right, let 'er go!" Andrea shouted dropping her arm.

Soldiers shot a pair of flares into the air. The explosion did little more than char the paintings on the ceiling, but they drew every single person's attention for a few moments. Lana ran past the horde paused in the attack leaving just enough room for the little mage to slip by. Her staff whacked into arms, legs, heads, any body part in the way, but she didn't have time to apologize. Rounding past an older woman with a dress wide enough to act as the lock on a dam, she spotted the Inquisitor chasing after the Duchess through the balcony gardens. He had his companions on his heels, all of them prepared for battle.

His final fleeing message echoed above the mass hysteria, "Cullen, guard the Empress!"

Dressed only in that red frippery, the commander faced three harlequins rounding upon Celene. The Empress was wise enough to fall back behind him, but he needed protection and fast. The first harlequin attacked boldly, aiming for his unshielded arm, but the commander blocked it with ease. Daggers rarely defeated a sword unless pressed for space, and Cullen had plenty if he kept his feet moving. The problem was the other harlequin notching her bow.

Lana didn't pause in her running as she threaded together the spell. The edges were wonky, leaving a few gaps in the final product, but it didn't need to be perfect. It needed to work, and she needed to be close enough to cast it. She leapt over what almost looked like Whitley cowered in a ball on the floor just as the archer released her arrow. Cullen turned from the harlequin's blades to spot the arrow aimed for Celene. He threw himself in the way but the arrow stuck in mid-air, straight into Lana's barrier. She'd made it, barely. Another inch and it wouldn't have worked. Cullen turned to face her and nodded his head in thanks. She responded back the same, grateful to have not wasted any time.

The harlequin only tipped her masked head and released a rain of arrows upon the barrier. Lana dipped deep into her pools, pouring all she could into it while the damn clown tried to whittle her down by pieces. Just try it, she sneered throwing both hands at her barrier expanding outward from Celene and Cullen. I've got...

"Ah!" a dagger slit across Lana's arm and embedded into the banister. Growling in pain, she followed the path to the third harlequin who drew back another to finish off the exposed mage. Keeping her focus on the barrier, Lana snatched up the buried dagger. The blade was warm almost to the point of fire in her fingers from its trip through the air. Tipping it behind her head, she threw it back at the woman. Sweet Andraste! The dagger actually stuck deep in the harlequin's shoulder, scattering her other throwing knives.

"Maker, how did you...?" Cullen asked, his eyes wide.

"Total luck," Lana admitted. Another arrow stuck into the barrier, this one from across the room. Shit! "More on the other side, Cullen!"

"I see them!" he shouted back. Grabbing onto the acrobatic harlequin with his free arm, he pulled her close while also driving his sword in. Without any time to spare, he kicked the clown away to free his blade. "Remain here," he ordered to Celene and then Cullen exited from Lana's barrier. The commander waved at his remaining people to finish off the harlequins, orders and numbers flying through the air. But it was easier said than done. Andrea rallied her people towards the pair taking aim at the barrier containing Celene, but the party guests managed to clog up the staircase and landing. People screamed, running for any exit they could find, giving ample room for the two archers to twist their aim from the Empress to the mage protecting her.

"I'm getting real tired of sighting down the wrong end of an arrow!" Lana screamed. Her rage drew forth what remaining mana she had as she heaved ice across the void of the ballroom. It lanced in the air, freezing one arrow in place against the bow's string. Freezing cold to the point of burning, the harlequin chucked her now useless bow at the ground where the wood snapped. The other released too early to freeze in place, but Lana's spell was enough to throw the arrow off course where it stuck into the shoe on the chandelier. Both shoe and arrow tumbled to the ballroom floor.

Lana's shoulders sagged as she watched the harlequin notch another arrow. There was nothing left in her pool, no other spells to throw, and if she turned from the barrier Celene was dead. Lana faced down the inevitable, glaring into the eternal abyss always waiting for her. The harlequin twisted her head in comical joy and launched the arrow. Her aim was true, the arrow honing right for Lana's heart. She tried to dodge out of the way, but there was no time. It was going to strike her no matter what. Lana braced herself for the pain when a shield of fire erupted from the ground, flame consuming the arrow.

"What the...?" Lana flipped around and spotted Morrigan snarling at the clowns, her own hands extended in rage.

She lifted a lone eyebrow at Lana and said, "I have Celene protected. Go. Finish them."

Lana yanked off her barrier, but another more powerful one remained in place. Mana no longer directed into protecting the Empress flooded her system. She twisted her fingers and cracked her neck as the power danced through her parted hands. Lana drew forth every ounce of ice in her system and pointed it at the ceiling. The clown tipped her head at the mage filling the roof with an endless stream of ice, no doubt confused by the tactic. She drew her bow back, prepared to end the troublesome mage. As the harlequin readied her finger to fire once more upon her, Lana cracked her ice spike in half. The massive spear slipped from its precarious perch and raced through the air. The harlequin looked up just as the spear shattered into her skull, the force cracking through every bone and pulverizing her body to goo.

So much for... Another dagger whizzed through the air, this one clunking into the banister and skittering to the ballroom floor. Lana whipped her head back at the harlequin chucking knives like confetti. Beside that one, the second continued to fire a never ending supply of arrows, as if that next would finally pierce through Morrigan's barrier. Lana gripped tighter to her staff and stomped towards the dagger thrower. The harlequin hopped onto the balls of her feet, dancing back and forth while the tiny mage bared down upon her. Extending her proper daggers, the clown swung first, leaping into the air. Lana threw her hand up, the force of the fade catching the harlequin and hurling her towards the dance floor below.

But the damn agile thing snagged onto the banister. She yanked herself up and perched upon it, the head cocked to the side. Lana swung around to the archer and fired an ice fist without thinking. It shattered through the arrow intended for her and straight to the woman's mask. Blood trickled through the nostril holes and the archer staggered back.

"Right," Lana raised her staff at the dagger thrower. "One clown left." She shot off three ice bolts but the harlequin dodged each one, somersaulting and twisting about like it was all a charade. "Hold fucking still!" Lana cried.

The clown refused to obey. She scrabbled up the sapphire banners dangling from the ceiling ten feet into the air and hung off one by a single hand. Reaching into her pocket, she unearthed something Lana couldn't make out. "Oh shit!" Lana didn't turn away fast enough as the smoke bomb tumbled through the air to crack against the ground. White smoke raced to fill her vision, blanketing everything from her sight. Lana blinked through the tears, struggling to cough up a spell. Somewhere above her was a harlequin waiting to pounce. There was only one solution.

Waving her fingers quickly, a blue sphere burst from beneath her legs and reached all around her for ten feet. She snapped her head up and spotted the harlequin, daggers thrust forward, hanging in midair. Lana smiled at the woman trying to scrabble against the mage's manipulation of time. Stepping to the side, Lana yanked away the magic. The harlequin tumbled the ground now without any mage in the way to break her fall. Aiming for the harlequin's unprotected head, Lana swung her staff end around. It smashed into her shoulders, but the force was too strong for the staff and the entire end shattered apart, kicking wood splinters through the air.

"For Andraste's sake, this is why you rebar the inner core!" she screamed at the clown.

"Lana!" Cullen shouted. She whipped her head up as that damn archer tried to get cute. Morrigan picked off her attack, but strain was showing on her friend's face.

With the staff broken, it was of no use to her magically. Instead, Lana chucked it at the archer. The woman dodged out of the way, which pushed her closer to the man whose red finery was coated in the scarlet blood of her fellow sisters. Cullen grabbed her arm and a snap echoed above the blaring din. Screaming in pain, the archer fell to her knees, no longer a danger with a broken wrist.

Then the damn dagger clown went and moved below Lana. She twirled around on the floor and lifted her legs up, about to kick in both of Lana's knees, but the mage flicked fire across her skin. The harlequin reared back, covering her face from the flames. They weren't powerful enough to finish her off, the fire already skittering away across the marble. Lana bent over and picked up one of a dozen fallen swords. She stepped closer to the harlequin trying to squirm out of the way.

Drawing the sword across the woman's chest, Lana paused. Rage and adrenaline pumped through her body, all of it winnowing down through her arm to the point of the sword. She didn't rear back to finish the blow, only tipped her head down and screamed at the harlequin. "I have withstood slaying an archdemon. I have crossed swords with men out of legend and been the only one to walk away. I wear the hide of every high dragon I've ever slaughtered, but if you think a clown can finish me off...then dare to get up and face me!"

The harlequin froze, the eyes blinking frantically from behind the mask. Slowly, she released her grip on her dangers and extended her hands for mercy.

"That's what I suspected," Lana sneered. She drew the sword back as Inquisition soldiers grabbed onto the downed harlequin and bound her hands for a later trial.

"A rather bombastic if not earned threat," Morrigan chuckled, her own voice stressed from the eternal draw of mana.

"Sometimes it helps to be overly dramatic," Lana sighed. Every rush of battle fled from her body leaving only exhaustion behind in her depleted veins.

Morrigan shrugged off her barrier and went to her Empress' side, as did a few others of the court now that the immediate danger passed. Pain hissed up Lana's arm and she turned to inspect the broken skin where the dagger split it. Little more than a red line, it shouldn't take much to bandage up. Her eyes darted away from her injury to Cullen. The commander was down upon a knee; to everyone else he looked as if he was inspecting the ground, but Lana caught a grimace on his face. Stepping close to him she placed her hand along his back, gently caressing the curve of his spine.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, not that she need to have bothered. Conversations erupted as people ran about trying to find salves and healing for the injured or the imagined injured, while everyone else stood around screaming 'What happened?'

"I need a moment, is all," he insisted through a stubbornness she knew all to well in her own reflection.

Reaching into the softer part of her mind, Lana infused him with a whisper of the spirit's energy. Not enough to mend broken bones, but it should at least give him a few more minutes to look all commanding before he could take a break. "What did you do?" he asked. More certain in his movements, he rose from his collapse. Those warm eyes danced across hers. She extended a hand to help him and held it.

"Oh, let's see - I stabbed a clown, iced one, shattered a nose here, threatened another, protected an Empress. And I haven't even told you what happened with the Venatori in the west wing."

Cullen chuckled from her quick and dirty list. He slid closer to her, his arm swooping around her naked shoulder. Suddenly the doors to the front gardens burst open. The Inquisitor climbed up the stairs and shouted, "Duchess Floriene is dead!"

A cry of joy broke out through the crowd who only a few hours earlier greeted the dead woman like a best friend.


	12. Chapter 12

Abrasions across the back and most of the shoulder, a gash into the thigh near a major artery which - by the grace of the Maker - didn't nick it, and a swollen eye. Lana pushed what had to be the final drops of her mana into the wounded man. The eye and the abrasion could heal on their own with time, but she was concerned about the gash. Infection was a practical guarantee at this point, and harlequins loved their little bottles of poison. Probably hemlock knowing her luck.

Her patient sat upon one of the marble benches lining the room with another injured soldier's feet stretched across his lap. On occasion, he'd lightly rub the soldier's legs but the woman was numb to the world for another eight hours. "There," Lana pronounced, pulling her hands away from the man's leg. "It will be best if you rest, and in the morning I'll check the eye. Someone will check the eye."

He nodded, his one good eye scrutinizing her as she kneeled before him. They hadn't said much about the not technically Inquisition mage administering healing, but everyone was wary. Given what happened with the Venatori tonight it was understandable. Lana tipped her head and slid away, when the man grabbed onto her tending fingers and gave them a soft shake. Then he returned to his fellow slumbering soldier and shifted her legs so she'd be more comfortable. What had once been the cloak room was overstuffed with wounded scattered across every available surface. The worst were given benches and tables. One rested his head upon what was supposed to be a cake, the blue frosting mashed into his hair. But it cushioned his head from a neck wound and stemmed the bleeding from his nose.

The rest were upon the floor in such a haphazard manner it was almost impossible to cross it without treading upon a finger or toe. Lana fell to her knees to tend to the wounded, inching along by her hands and feet to knit back together bones and close off skin. Another three non-mage healers moved among her, applying bandages and calling out if any magical assistance was needed. After what felt like an hour, the final wound was stitched and she could settle back for a break. The muscles just below the skin of her fingers ached like she'd frozen them into a block of ice. Too much magic snapped back at her from beyond the veil, the mana growing wilder with each dip back in. She bunched her fists up to try and return blood flow, but she knew she wasn't going to be doing anymore magic for awhile. Not without risking a few angry energy bolts across her body, anyway.

Every muscle in her body begged to be cut free - for Lana to collapse into a heap on the floor next to those she tended, but the corset wouldn't allow it. She was pinned and sewn in so tight, sitting was impossible. The best she could do was take her weight off her knees and put it upon her hands. Laying her hands out upon the floor like she was mimicking a mabari, Lana redistributed her weight. She was beyond the realm of exhaustion and into the almost euphoric state of giddiness that follows right before total collapse. And under it all, her side ached. No blood pooled below the corset or onto her skirts, which would just add to the mess she already made of the dress, but the throbbing warned her that it needed attention. Which would require rising and finding somewhere private to get out of the damn dress.

"What's the situation with the wounded?"

Lana glanced up from her hands into the commander's weary face. He still carried his sword as if he feared another attack from the shadows, the blade extended downward. After the Inquisitor arrived in the ballroom informing the Empress about her would-be assassin's death, it was all speeches and drinks, then more dancing and merriment. While the big swords played the game of acting as if everything was under control, the rest of the soldiers gathered up the wounded or carted off the surviving harlequins for a later trial. Lana had no idea who was in charge of removing bodies or scrubbing up blood, but judging by the unperturbed expression on the servants faces, they'd probably seen worse.

"All done up," Lieutenant Andrea rose from her position. She'd been nursing a few of her people, telling 'em stories and keeping them distracted while Lana reset bones. "Least, I think so," she turned to the mage still resting upon her knees.

Lana nodded, rising up to the closest she could approximate a respectable stance, and wiped her hands, "As well as I could. Some of them will require tending through the night, and that man there might lose a..." The world washed to a pastel pink as a ringing resounded in her ears. Lana grabbed onto her forehead to steady herself before she fainted dead to the ground. "Sorry," she shook her head casting the ringing away. Taking in a few breaths, she glanced up at Cullen with a doleful smile, "Been a long night."

He skirted around the people stretched upon the floor to reach Lana. The wounded groaned from pain, but the woes were background now, no sharp cries from fresh agony. Placing the sword down on the bench, he slipped both hands under her elbows and helped her to rise to her feet. She'd lost her shoes somewhere between running to get to Cullen and slaughtering clowns. If they were ever to be found again, she suspected there'd be some fairy story invented to explain them involving a chronically late princess who murdered clowns. The frozen stone nipped at her exhausted toes, but it felt good to be back up, her knees especially grateful. Cullen didn't release his hold on her arm, his amber eyes staring into hers.

"You should rest," he said.

Lana tipped her head back and forth, "In time."

He sighed at her obstinance then turned to Andrea, "Lieutenant, can you handle things here?"

"Oh, sure. No problem. Antim there's thinking about starting a round of Wicked Grace," she gestured to the man with the black eye.

"We don't have any cards," Antim pointed out.

"We'll fake it, no problem," Andrea shrugged it off. She twisted her braid back around to her other shoulder and wiped at the sweat staining her brow and the sides of her face. Behind, she left a blood swipe reminiscent of Hawke's. It'd been a long night for everyone.

"Warden?" Cullen gestured to the door, his other arm still around hers.

"You win," she mouthed. With Cullen propping her up, she padded around people barely aware of her existence and moved out of the door. Once in the hall away from prying soldiers, he slipped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. Grabbing onto his shoulder for support, Lana followed on his trail.

"Shouldn't you be back with the Inquisitor reveling in the toasts and accolades?"

Cullen shrugged, "I'm certain Josephine can handle it. She has a knack for laurels." He led them both down the well lit hallway and through a set of Orlesian glass door. Pushing on the handle with his free hand, the doors opened upon the back gardens. Lana sucked in a breath from the crystal beauty of this hidden treasure. Inlaid sapphires coated every statue around the garden giving them an ethereal glow in the moonlight. They almost appeared like the spirits of the fade, hovering through the garden to watch over the blue bonnets, crystal grace, and other similar shaded flowers overfilling crystal pots. A lone fountain sprayed water in a circle through a hole in a massive blue crystal at the top spire, which scattered water droplets onto the flowers and anyone who drew too close. The chill of the night combined with the fountain created a creeping fog obscuring the path. It gave the illusion they were walking upon clouds through some magical sky garden.

"This is magnificent," she breathed. "And...you had no idea it was here," Lana snickered from the same awe on his face.

"No," Cullen admitted, "I'd thought it was merely a shortcut."

"To where?" Lana turned in his grasp. He wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders to try and protect her from the cold.

"Anywhere away from there," Cullen said. Pulling her even tighter to himself, he placed a kiss against the top of her head. Lana snuggled against his chest, the rise of his breath, the thump of his heartbeat calling to her. This was a strange serenity; blood clotting on her hands and smoke ravaging her throat, but in this crisp oasis while wrapped up in his arms she felt peace.

"I'm surprised you're not dancing in there, Commander. You're a big hero and all," she smiled. "Saved an Empress. Very impressive. You're likely to get a medal made of tin and some scrap of land with half a mule on it."

Cullen chuckled from her assessment of royalty's temperamental gratitude. "I'm not dancing because it seems someone convinced the nobility I possess two left feet and cannot be trusted anywhere near a ballroom. For which I am eternally grateful," he whispered the last sentence into her ear. The intimacy revived her wilting form and something other than pain stirred in her stomach. "You were as much a hero as I in saving the Empress," he continued. "Shouldn't you be fending off attention from nobles left and right?"

Lana laughed at the idea. "Ha, a strapping man with a strong sword arm and..." she leaned back in his arms so her fingers could skirt along the cut above his lip, "tempting scars is a far better prize than the same in a woman. They see the marks displayed upon my shoulders and are terrified of what I could do."

His fingers pushed aside some of her fallen hair to gently trace the path of one of her old wounds. There were so many carved against her collar bones, her shoulders, her arms it was a wonder she could remember their source at all. "You were formidable long before you got those scars," Cullen muttered. His touch radiated across her skin as he rubbed up and down her arms to keep her warm. Other men would have tried to smoothly counter her by saying she was pretty because of her scars or that she couldn't see her own beauty within, but not him. He found her attractive because of the force that drove her to get the scars in the first place.

"Those women have no idea what they're missing out on," Lana sighed. Her fingers threaded through his hair, the waves soft as silk.

"Trodden toes and snapped ankles, you mean?" he joked.

"You were doing fine until I...interceded."

He pushed back her hair and drew his fingers across her cheek, "I was terrified I'd injure you. I know my limits when it comes to dancing."

Lana smirked, "Really? Were there lots of templar dances while the mages slept?"

Cullen's shoulders shook in a soft laugh, "Could you imagine? It'd be a massacre without a single blade drawn. No, my sister. Sisters, actually. They were always trying to teach my brother and me, bully my brother and me. Being the eldest, Branson managed to wiggle out every moment he could, but I..."

"You couldn't say no." She snuggled her arms around him and ever so slightly swayed with his body. It wasn't the kind of dance to win anyone attention on a floor, but her heart beat in a rhythm quickly matching his. She hoped this dance wouldn't end.

"I am a pushover when it comes to Mia," Cullen said. He plucked another kiss against Lana's head then asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

She swallowed and nuzzled her cheek against his chest. For once there was no metal to impede her, only the wool of the uniform and then his muscle flexing from holding her tightly. "I...don't remember much. Before the tower, I mean. But I had a brother, older by a few years. He was what you'd expect in older brothers. Ornery, loved to hide dirt clods in my shoes. He'd also sneak me treats when our mother's back was turned. Said I was the perfect height to slip over his shoulders and reach apples on the trees."

Cullen's fingers drifted down her shoulders to circle around her upper back, quietly waiting for more. The soft memory drifted away as reality rose back. It was a very old wound, one she was glad to have closed years ago. Lana frowned and looked up at him. "They were not rich, nowhere near the connections Hawke's Amell line had. So, they...turned their focus on the child without magic. The not Maker-cursed child. I never heard from any of them after I was...found."

She knew she was lucky in the end. So many other mage children upon the first sign of their powers were castigated, tossed into the world with nothing to their name, some killed outright. And who knew how many were out there right now alone and terrified with nowhere to go, nowhere safe to harbor them. The circles may not have been the solution but they were at least something in a world full of nothing. Cullen's eyes hovered in hers as he searched for anything to say. "Lana, I'm..."

"No one ever called me by my full name. I was always Lanny or Lana, or Lamby from my father. He said I reminded him of the little lambs in spring. My hair was rather poofy as a child. Solona was too long of a name for such a tiny girl. I'd never even heard it until I'd..." she blinked against the burning in her eyes, "templars appeared at the house. I remember it was summer because there shouldn't have been ice under my bed, frost climbing the trees. Two of them filled the doorway in their gleaming armor insisting Solona Amell come with them. I've hated that name ever since." Cullen's thumb wiped her cheeks, catching the few disobeying tears that dared to escape. She shrugged her scarred shoulders and swallowed. "I...don't think I've ever told anyone that before."

"Do you," Cullen's voice cracked in the cold of the night, "is there ever a time you wonder what your life would be like without magic?"

Twisting her fist around, Lana brought forth a small portion of mana, just enough to light an orb upon her finger. She watched it dance across each finger spinning like the ladies in the ballroom she'd spent half of her life banished from ever seeing. "Sometimes. If I hadn't been taken to the tower, if I hadn't been recruited into the wardens..."

"No one would have ended the blight," Cullen breathed, his warm voice coating her cheek.

"Oh, I'm certain Duncan would have found another warden to light the beacon with Alistair. I was in the wrong place at the right time, a place another could have easily stumbled into. After that it was just fixing all the problems in thedas, recruiting an army, stopping a civil war, and ending the darkspawn scourge. Rather easy." She passed her exploits off as little more than excursions because it was easier than facing how close she nearly came to death and ruin in that year.

Cullen gripped tighter to her, his face burrowing into her neck. It wasn't until he squeezed his hands into her arms that she remembered her path as a warden wasn't as nonchalant for him as she played it. Raising that army took her back into his life at perhaps both their lowest points. She'd never cried harder than that night after exiting Kinnloch. Far from camp, curled up in a stand of ferns for the hope no one would see or hear her, she bawled for every friend she'd ever had then lost and the horror of finding them again. It was her home, her family, and they weren't just killed, they were mutilated beyond recognition. Alistair found her a few hours later, her fingers raw from the carving blade slipping across her staff. She'd gotten only a quarter of the names in, but she couldn't do anymore. He'd sat in the bush beside her, didn't care about the prickers in it, just plopped down and patted her leg until dawn. Neither said a word, but both shared in the survivor's guilt they'd bear for the rest of their lives.

Lana shook off the old memories and slapped on a smile, "Besides, if I hadn't been touched by magic I'd probably be bored out of my mind and married off with four or five kids in the way."

Cullen spoke into her neck, "Married, huh?"

"Most likely to maintain the family business. That's what marriage is, right? Monetary ties and contractual obligations to keep names in order? I'd probably work it to be tied off to a traveling merchant so I'd never have to see him." She spoke the flippant words as if they were a death sentence. In truth, she rarely played the what if game with her own life. If she regretted every decision she ever made, she'd never rise from bed. "What of you? What would your life be like if you'd never joined the templars?"

Cullen pulled back from her neck and rose, his lips turned in thought. "I...I suppose I'd be in Honnleath farming. Or..." He shook his head from a sour taste. "No, I was Maker awful at it even as a child." His head dipped low and he eyed up her shoulder to whisper, "Perhaps I'd be a traveling merchant with a wife grateful she'd never have to see me."

"Oh no," Lana placed her hand against his cheek and lifted those mournful eyes. "Any wife of yours would be certain to travel forever at your side." His lips lifted in a grateful smile, and Lana leaned forward to pluck a sweet kiss against them. As she broke away, she smirked, "And she'd probably come armed to keep the competition at bay."

Cullen chuckled from her fair assessment. "This has been a trying night in many respects."

Clinging tighter to him, Lana shook off another bout of pain throbbing from her stomach. She thought he missed it, but Cullen arched an eyebrow from her wan smile. "I need to..." Lana sucked in a breath from another round, "inspect my wound, but I'll have to find a servant or handmaiden to help me out of this dress. They sewed me into this thing before pushing me out the door."

Cullen's fingers drifted around her ribs just above the bruising from the wound, "I could cut you out. I might know my way around a sword."

"It's all right, I..." Lana tipped her head back from a new wave of pain and she shook it wildly, "Nope, I'm liking your idea more. My room is...somewhere on the other side of the palace. I think." She pointed towards a black spec surrounded by another dozen dark windows in the far distance. There hadn't been much time to settle in before everyone was dashing around readying for the ball. It seemed unlikely she'd even find the right one on the first go.

Cullen caught her hand and cupped his fingers around it. "Mine is much closer. Here," He slipped his arm under hers and lifted her up. Together, they limped through the lit but mostly empty halls of the second floor. A few servants flitted through and the occasional party guest raced to get back to the festivities now that most of the murdering was done. No one paid them any attention, they weren't important.

After opening up his door, Lana inched her way into the room. Someone took the time to stoke the fire, the hearth large enough to hang a cauldron upon. A woman with pinched cheeks and slits for eyebrows glowered down upon them from a painting over the fire. Cherubs in gold leaf circled the four poster bed, each one aiming to shoot the one in front of it in the ass. All in all, it was the kind of room to induce nightmares in anyone, though the wainscoting was very nice.

Lana gripped onto the bedpost while Cullen closed his door. "You're alone in here? This place is palatial," she sighed with jealousy. "I have to share mine with three other women from...I want to say Jader." She tried to stretch out her side, willing the knot of pain away but it wasn't going to bow to her whims again. It was probably the last clown that pushed it.

"Here," Cullen placed a hand on her hip to steady himself as he attempted to find a way into her dress. "Let me try and...uh," a dagger glinted in his hands. He frilled up her burnt skirts, his fingers caressing her exposed thigh. "I'm uncertain where to begin."

Lana chuckled, "There are two pins in the back along both sides, yank those out first. And for the Maker's sake, be careful!"

"Why?" he asked even while cautiously removing the left pin. The side of her corset expanded offering a bit of wiggle room, but not enough yet. "It's not as if you haven't already destroyed the skirts."

"Because," Lana sucked a full breath into her lungs as he undid the second pin. She'd missed that feeling most of all while fighting. "This dress is either Josephine's or Leliana's. I'm uncertain which." Her fingers pushed up the now gaping bodice as Cullen moved around to face her.

"Andraste! Well, um, perhaps the charred skirts give it character. A realistic turn to the fire."

"Battle scarring to a dress?" Lana chuckled, "It'll be the next great trend in Orlais, I'm certain."

Cullen smiled in response, then raised his dagger up for attention. "Now what?"

"There's a long thread running directly through the back half. Cutting it should let out the last of the slack," Lana explained.

With more finesse than before he knew whose dress it was, Cullen's fingers parted through every scale on the back. The warm leather caressed her skin from his exploring, stirring that hungry part of her she'd thought exhaustion tamed.

"I believe I've found it," he crowed.

"Good," Lana nodded her head. "But before you cut it..."

Her thought leapt off a cliff as the eager man nipped the thread apart. In one swoop, the dress opened up from the back exposing her skin. The corset slipped from her fingers, dragging the fire skirts with it to land in a leather and silk lump below her bare feet. She felt Cullen's fingers settled upon her naked back, shock catching him by surprise. Then he yanked his hand away as if her skin was blistering.

Lana spun around and folded her arms across her chest, "I was going to say to warn me because the dress would fall apart, but..."

Gulping, he bored into her eyes while his fingers fiddled with his dagger. He was too terrified to let his vision drift any lower than her chin. "I'm, I didn't mean to, or know that."

Leaning forward on her toes, Lana pressed a kiss to his apologizing lips. Cullen's stammer froze along with the rest of his limbs. She heard the dagger tumble to the floor and she opened an eye to see it had missed the dress. Caressing his cheek once more, Lana smiled. He gulped back his embarrassment from her touch, the pair of them taking a moment. Then she pushed back her breast to inspect the wound on her stomach. The skin was pocked in yellow and green from internal bruising, and where the dagger bit a jagged strip of red remained, but there didn't seem to be any pus oozing free.

"Does it look infected to you?" she asked, her eyes darting from the wound up to Cullen's.

"I..."

"You can see better than I can," she said.

He bobbed his head like a ship adrift on the sea, "Right, of course." Slowly, he descended to a single knee. His eyes bored into her skin while, with a whisper touch, he pushed upon her wound. Pain chewed through her side, but it was duller than the sharp knot she'd felt earlier. Maybe it was the lack of mana in her system that did her in.

"I'm not seeing anything immediate, though a salve would assist in...in, uh," Cullen glanced up from her stomach right into her naked breast. From Lana's viewpoint his face was eclipsed by her nipple which made her chuckle as his face turned the same shade of red as his coat.

She placed her hand against her side, drawing forth what healing power she could manage while Cullen slid back to his feet. He kept his eyes drilled into the floor even as she sighed from relief flooding her veins. She forgot how nice not being in constant pain was, even if the feeling was fleeting. Floating from exhaustion and the balm, Lana wrapped her arms around Cullen and nuzzled close to his chest.

For a moment, his arms remained stationary at his side. "This isn't how I anticipated tonight going," he gulped. "I'm...you are so tempting but..."

"Cullen," Lana slid back from him and smiled, "after so many clowns all I want to do is crawl into bed and fall fast asleep."

Relief flooded his face and he bobbed his head. "Right, of course. I shouldn't have- Wait a moment." His fingers rose to unknot the multitude of buttons along his finery, trembling slightly from the nearly naked mage watching. After a time, he managed them all, the jacket dangling free. He slipped it off his arms and placed it upon the chair, then yanked his undershirt off over his head ruffling up his hair more than battle managed. "You could wear this to sleep in," he said extending the tan tunic to Lana, but she was the dumbstruck one now.

Four years and she still remembered the curve of those taut pecs atop his rib line. That firm stomach that trailed down to his narrow hips prodding above his trousers. The v was softer than she remembered, age catching up, but she wanted to grab the padding even more. Knead it through her fingers. To slip her hands around to his backside and pull him down on top of her. His skin was so pale it radiated in the firelight. Most of his scars were the same ones she remembered from the deep roads, but there was one along the left side of his chest that caught her. The cut was in a c shape, curving across where Lana wanted to lay her head. It wasn't as faded to white as the others, the scar still a stinging pink. Her fingers drifted across his skin, and Maker his warmth washed over her.

Still holding onto the tunic, Cullen wrapped his arm around the small of her back. He watched her stroke his own scar for a minute longer before explaining, "Haven. I was struck by debris when we were fleeing Corypheus."

Lana nodded her head. She tossed back her hair and touched a scar running the length of her shoulder, "Haven, from the dragon worshiping cult. The dragon herself broke my arm in two places." His strong fingers caressed her own scar, the shared intimacy curling her bare toes. He dipped down to kiss her lips, this one as slow as a summer's afternoon floating on the river. The warmth wrapped up through her toes as his lips kicked up more fluttering butterflies in her stomach. She sighed in the back of her throat from a rare moment of perfection. Then a cursed yawn broke through their festivities, dragging away the bliss and replacing it with exhaustion.

"I don't know if I can last another minute," she admitted.

"Here." With his help, Lana snuggled into his undershirt, the same one he'd been wearing all through the night. It smelled of every inch of him, his earthy musk more powerful than it ever was on the grey warden tunic, but there was also a spicy cologne layered over top. When she smelled it, she smiled slyly at him. Cologne, changing his hair, just when she thought she had Cullen figured out...

"Without a dress, it'd probably be best if you spend the night here," Cullen said pointing to the bed. "I can rest in this chair, you take the bed. You, put in far too much tonight already."

Lana caught his pointing hand, "Cullen, don't be silly." Without any resistance, she pulled him to the bed. Lana hopped up and slid over the top of the blanket. "There's plenty of room for both of us."

He fluffed up the back of his hair and sighed, his chest expanding in an instant distraction as he flexed his biceps. "Are you certain? I wouldn't want to impose upon your...decisions of honor."

Yanking back the cover, Lana was partway under it when she stopped and rolled her eyes. She patted the other side of the bed. "Sleep beside me."

Unable to offer up another excuse, Cullen collapsed to the bed. He wiggled off his boots, tossing them to the door as a cheap alarm, and curled up under the blanket. The bed was narrow for two people, so Lana flipped onto her side. Cullen followed suit, his hand sliding below her neck while the other cupped her stomach. It was much the same way he'd spent a few hours speaking to her in Skyhold before she fell asleep and he slipped away. And now, she could spend the whole night with him curled up around her.

Lana sighed, sleep mushing her brain to goo. With barely a whisper she said, "Later, we'll figure out sleeping with me."


	13. Chapter 13

Chittering erupted in the back of her mind. No. The chittering crawled along the walls! Lana threw a fireball towards it, breaking apart the eternal darkness. In the flare, a multitude of teeth glittered in the deep, each fang snapping in rage. Baring down upon her, every darkspawn in the deep roads raced to finish the job. She tried to reach her arms back for another spell, but it was too late. Her tongue lolled to a standstill, her fingers locking in place as the darkspawn leapt off the ceiling towards her.

Lana bolted awake gasping for breath. Her body trembled from the memory, no, was that one just a dream? Was it both? With each year it grew harder to tell reality from the fade. She blinked in the soft grey shadows, gulping to bring sense to her tumultuous brain. Unable to make out anything in the room, Lana shifted uncomfortably on the narrow bed. The room felt wrong, the grey shapes and shadows unfamiliar. But she hadn't been anywhere familiar in a year. Her entire life was abandoned for...what life did she even have before she turned to the deep roads? What life could she have?

Placing her head in her hands, Lana sat up in the bed and waited. She could feel another presence in the bed beside her, but Hawke wasn't speaking up. No matter how deep into sleep her cousin got, any moment Lana was roused by nightmares Hawke would always mumble out, "Are you a blood mage?" And upon Lana insisting she wasn't, she'd roll back to sleep as if it was that simple an answer.

Lana waited another breath before casting a minor spell in the fireplace. It wasn't enough to catch the log, only lift a few embers to life and return a hint of color to the grey world. She gazed down at the form beside her and the past night walloped her memory. Cullen fell asleep exactly as he held her, his hand still curled under her pillow, the other pulled back to his own naked chest. Andraste's tears but he was so heartbreakingly perfect while asleep. The peace of slumber wiped away his worries leaving behind so much of that young man she knew in the tower before everything changed. His eyelashes fluttered from a dream and Lana slid back down onto the bed. This time she faced him, her hands curled up under her head.

One of his waves disobeyed the new order and curled in on itself, twisting until it scattered across his forehead. Those golden brown eyes stayed shut tight while his lips huffed a breath in deep sleep. Maybe you need to accept you have a type, Lana. After she left him in Kirkwall, she questioned what drove her to give in to her temptations in the deep road. She knew it would never be a relationship beyond a few days, but she pushed it as much as he did. In the dark of night, when her mind refused to release her to sleep she thought back to what she'd considered only a minor infatuation with that awkward templar in the tower. At the time it had seemed childish fun, nothing more. But upon being freed from the circle, who was the first person she fell into a foolish love with? A blonde, brown eyed man with a sweet heart and lofty ideals. She worried that she was trying to replace one with the other, but she wasn't certain who was the replacement and who the original. It was a foolish concern either way. Alistair was...in the past now, forever. Nothing would change that. And Cullen, he had his duty, always filled his heart with...Maker, she knew better than to hope for more.

As if sensing her thoughts, Cullen's lips rose in a smile and his hand ran along her shoulder. He didn't open his eyes but whispered, "Are you awake?"

"Yes."

"Is it morning?"

Lana glanced out the window and saw no hint of a rising dawn on the horizon. "No, I...had a bad dream."

Now those honeyed eyes opened and his once blissful face filled with concern. "A darkspawn one, or the other kind?"

"The other kind, though there were darkspawn in it so it's not easy to tell," Lana forced a smile, not wanting to heap onto his worries. Nightmares were so much a part of her that even Hawke grew immune. Though the first time it happened, her cousin sat bolt upright and threw a carafe through the window.

Cullen didn't rush to fix her, didn't offer suggestions for how to keep the bad dreams at bay. He only opened his arms wide and encouraged her to slide into them. His tunic tugged against her skin, the thick fabric catching upon the mattress as she scooted into him. Snuggling deep into his enticing trap, her fingers traced along his back, the muscle's unbending below his skin. What she wouldn't give to run her nails down it, arching her spine in...Lana shook the thought, willing away that nugget of desire. Time and a place and facing the end of the world was not it, even if she was the one to begin it all again in spite of the facts. His fingers tried to untangle her rat's nest of hair clumped at the back of her neck, but she was going to need a bottle of oil to attack it head on.

"Do you still get the bad dreams in the deep roads?" he asked. Lana crumpled into his chest, shame riding up her legs. "I didn't mean to, I'm..." Cullen's detangling fingers paused and he drew his fingers across her cheek.

"It's all right," she mumbled into his skin, her lips pressing against him even as she tried to curl deeper into a ball.

"Lana," he pulled her face up to his. No one liked her broken, no one wanted to talk about her being broken. It was easier to ignore it, frame it as a momentary lapse that would drift away given time. So she put on the mask and pretended all the other wardens didn't hear her screams at night. The lie was simpler. Did Cullen do the same, wave away any questions or concern because people don't like to think their heroes are vulnerable?

Sighing, he cupped her soft jaw as a hundred thoughts drifted across his eyes. "Why did you come to, uh, in the deep roads, when you returned to be with me?"

She blinked a few times, "I hadn't expected that question."

His eyes drifted away and he shifted on the bed as if it grew uncomfortable under his hip. "It's been in the back of my mind for awhile, since - well - it occurred, I suppose. I'd given you no good reason to...um," the blush burning up his cheeks as he tried to dance around speaking the word touched her heart.

Slipping forward, Lana caught him in a whisper of a kiss. It was just enough to draw Cullen from his awkwardness and he returned it in kind. Her fingers parted his stubble and she smiled, "In truth? I did it because I wanted to. It seemed like you did as well, so..."

"Because you wanted to?" he scoffed at her simple answer.

"I've spent a lot of my life not doing what I wanted, I suppose I wanted to rebel. For a little while anyway." She stared back through the years trying to find an explanation that never seemed to exist. Yes, she was attracted to him even before setting out, that much she was certain of. But something changed in the deep roads, whether it was in her or him she couldn't say. She just knew that if she never took that opportunity she'd regret it. "I didn't get you in any trouble with the templars, did I?"

"No," Cullen shook his head against the pillow, "no one knew and you weren't a mage of the circle, regardless. I-I never told anyone."

"Neither did I," Lana confessed, "though that's true of every warden mission. We are a secretive and tight lipped bunch."

"Sometimes, I wondered if it even happened, or if I dreamed it all."

Lana laughed, she felt the same alone in her room in the Vigil. "I believe it happened, but the dreams are nice too," she said. Her fingers drifted down his biceps, circling the power restrained within.

His eyes slipped shut from her touch, but then they snapped open and a sly look darted through them, "That's right. Hawke mentioned something about dreams."

Her smile folded to a sneer, "Hawke talks too much." Laughing at her response, Cullen's fingers arced down her back. "So, maybe," Lana drifted around through her memory and brain, trying to find a way to not lie, "on occasion I dream about you. Occasionally." She didn't have to touch her cheeks to know they were burning now. Hawke was going to feel her wrath when she returned to Skyhold.

Cullen ignored the embarrassment charring her body. In a smooth voice, he whispered, "What sort of dreams?"

"You've been thinking upon this for awhile," Lana cut back. He shrugged from her insinuation but wasn't about to give up his curiosity. She could fake exhaustion, slip back to sleep, pummel Hawke later, and never speak of this ever again. But...a memory stirred in the depths of her brain. Perhaps it was the healing draughts still floating in her system or the fact she hadn't eaten anything in nearly a day, but she wanted to give in to the momentary insanity.

"There is one in particular that I...I was in Vigil's Keep. Alone, in my room at my desk. There's a knock on the door and of course I'm thinking it's either invasion, darkspawn, or both. I open it up and you're standing there, no explanation, no reasoning for it, you're simply there. Wanting me. You run your fingers through my hair and tip my head back for a long awaited kiss."

Cullen's hands caressed up her face and dove into her knot of hair. Tugging upon it, he tipped her head back so he could lavish that kiss of her dreams upon her. Sweet Andraste! His lips parted, allowing his tongue the freedom to tangle with hers. Every nerve in her body woke from the heat coursing between them. He broke away and rose up from his pillow to whisper in her ear, "What did I do next?"

"You, um," a new blush coated her cheeks as she fought to find the ability to form words, "caressed my, uh, breasts."

"Hmm." His free hand slipped lower down her shoulder, gently rolling his pads against her muscles. The anticipation dug up through Lana's stomach and she squirmed wanting, no, needing him to. Cullen pushed his lips to hers as his hand cupped around her breast. At first he only teased the underside, curling his palm up and down it to push her further into agony. Then his fingers threaded across her nipple prodding below his shirt. Barely a nub, the attention drew them out of hiding. Lana's entire body curled up, savoring every cautious twist across her breast, while begging for more. Leaning into him, Lana moaned in the back of her throat.

Whispering beside her ear, Cullen said, "Please tell me I took your shirt off next." She wasn't certain if she could form sentences anymore, so Lana only nodded. "I'm enjoying dream me," Cullen chuckled. His hand slid off her nipple and down her stomach to land upon the hem of his shirt. "Um..." With both of them still on their sides, it wasn't going to be easy to get off.

Lana sat up and kicked the blanket away. With bemused eyes, Cullen leaned back as she reached over with her leg to straddle him. He kept a close hold on his shirt, and after she settled on top of him - her thighs pushing against his sides - he pulled it over her head. Now it was his turn to moan, his fingers gripping onto her hips as he took the time to enjoy her naked body.

"No more denial?" Lana asked. She felt a bit foolish being on display but Cullen only opened his eyes wider and smiled. Pinned below her, she felt one of his better features rising to attention.

"What...um," he swallowed, "what happened next?"

Diving forward, Lana placed her hands astride his head as her lips met his for a heated kiss. Breaking away, she whispered, "You ran your lips across my birthmark."

Cullen smiled, "You know me well." He kissed down her jaw, crisscrossing her neck before he landed at her collar bone. Gently, he pressed his lips to every petal of her birthmark, his breath cooling the skin only to have him return heat with another kiss. Maker, she'd never found the skin discoloration so erotic until he stroked it, kissed it, pressed his all against it. Now goosebumps rose across her arms from his fingers spreading across her skin.

Arching her back, Lana cried in pleasure as his hands took up both of her breasts. Circling the nipples and drawing them out, he increased a bit of pressure while watching her quiver above him. "You've gone off script," she moaned.

"Forgive me," he smiled, "I couldn't avoid the swell or any other part of your breasts." She laughed from the old joke when he took her nipple into her mouth. Softly sucking at first, his tongue teased around her skin as if the two were playing a game of tag.

"Gentle nipping," Lana instructed. His eyebrow rose for a moment, but then he did as ordered. When his teeth grazed across her, every pleasure center in her brain lit up, all of it driving right down to her own fun bits rubbing against his. Lana rocked her hips back and forth, lost in his teeth upon her nipple and his cock against her lower lips. Even with pants and his trousers in the way, she could still feel him bulging.

Cullen shook below her, his own moan punctuating against her skin. He shifted his legs to try and slide away from her grinding. "Now what?" he panted.

"Um..." the dream mashed in her mind with what she wanted right now, and that was all contained in his pants. "You removed my trousers."

His head tipped down below her stomach and he eyed up the fact she was wearing none. Slipping lower down the bed, his fingers reached around to the front of her stomach and he pretended to undo a button that didn't exist. Slowly, he slid his hands along her backside, stopped to caress each cheek of her cushioned ass, then dipped down to her thighs to remove the invisible trousers. "I'm afraid that's as far as I can reach," he whispered to her stomach.

"Why must I do everything myself?" Lana joked and she made a show of shaking her legs so the imaginary trousers would slip off. Cullen rose higher to kiss her, his hands sliding back up her legs. They curled underneath her smallclothes, pressing into her butt which he kneaded in a massage.

"I think I can guess what comes next," he said. With a single finger, he slid aside the edge of her smallclothes and teased her outer lips. Only circling through her pubic hair, he grinned over her squirming as she tried to press him deeper. Maker, he was going to drive her mad before he ever...

Cullen dipped a finger into her, shallow at first and twisting to drag some of her wetness all across her lips. Well lubricated, he trilled his fingers against her clitoris and every control in her body exploded causing the fireplace to roar to life. Oh Shit! He paused for a moment watching the logs hiss from her unexpected mana dump, then he smiled, "I'm guessing that's an endorsement."

Balancing her weight on one hand, Lana cupped his cheek and kissed him while moaning, "Maker, don't stop."

A seriousness flooded his face and he spoke with conviction, "Never." Cullen slipped off her smallclothes to her knees. Lana was uncertain if she could shake the real things off but it didn't matter. With enough space, he circled three fingers around her lips then drove them deep inside of her. While his thumb rolled against her clitoris, his fingers curled and stroked every delectable inch inside of her. She swallowed down another burst of mana building along her arms, but that only drew it deeper into her core, the core he was expertly stoking alive. Maker, don't burn the room down. Don't burn the room down.

Pleasure flooded out up her stomach, across her hips, and down her thighs, the rush so magnificent her legs began to shake. "Andraste, I..." Lana moaned. Her arms collapsed, dragging her face into the pillow beside his. His lips danced up her exhausted arm while one free hand caressed her breast.

Lana shuddered again, the man obeying his order and not stopping his own magic. But any strength she had left in her upper body vanished in the night. She slipped further down, pinning his hand against her chest as she collapsed on top of him.

"Problems?" he smiled, speaking in between kisses.

"I don't know if I can move," she admitted, then added as an aside, "It was a lot of clowns."

Cullen's chuckle warmed the skin of her neck as his lips pressed against her ear. "Hold tight," he whispered. His hand wiggled out from between their chests, while the other slipped away from inside her. Knotting both around her ass, he used his legs to tip her over on her side. Lana giggled from the simplicity of it, but he wasn't finished. Rolling her shoulder back, he rose to straddle on top of her, his hands now pressed beside her shoulders.

"By all the..." Lana breathed while watching his biceps strain from the weight. With the lightest of touches, she caressed up and down his muscles, squirming from the taut power within.

"I fear I am at your mercy," Cullen said, watching her grow giddy from his body.

Her eyes broke away to stare up into his, and she grinned with such mirth he paled for a moment at placing her in charge. Inching along the bed, Lana's hands traced down his chest, her fingers padding against every turn like she was slipping under a cave. The sexiest cave she could imagine. He wasn't vain enough to devote the time to hone his body to appear perfect, but it was solid, every dip of her fingers stumbling against a muscle that prodded back. A strip of almost white blonde hair ran down the middle of his chest. She trailed it with her fingers, fluffing it back and forth while dipping lower down the bed until reaching the hair fanned out near his hips. Too bad his trousers remained in the way.

They shouldn't be too much trouble. Her fingers picked up the waistband at the back and slowly she circled them towards the front. Cullen shifted his weight, either afraid he would crush her, or growing excruciatingly impatient. Judging by the state of his pants, she could guess which. The commander had three buttons, each one she undid by first kissing his stomach, sliding apart the fabric, then dipping a bit lower. By the last one, the pants broke free revealing what she suspected all along.

"Still no smallclothes," she smirked, her words smothered by his lower half.

Cullen struggled through a sigh and a laugh, "No. Oh, Maker." The latter half was probably from Lana curling her fingers down the bottom of his shaft and ever so carefully sliding them upwards. She cupped her palm around the head of his cock and rolled over top it like wishing upon a crystal ball. Ah yes, speaking off...

Sliding the trousers off, Lana caressed his backside, paying special attention to that turn under the cheeks that wasn't quite thigh yet. Cullen's body shuddered above her, and he raced to position his arms before he crushed her. She slipped even lower down the bed, shoving the trousers with her until they fell around his knees. With a gentle peck, Lana kissed the tops of his thighs. Her ornery fingers maintained their dance up and down his cock, taking a moment to cup under the balls. But when her lips moved towards that indentation where thigh met torso, Cullen groaned. Here was where the curly hair went, his pubes twisted in on each other like soft brambles. She parted them, knotting a finger around in circles while breathing against his skin. Closer, ever closer. Her tongue came in from the side, swirling up the head of his cock.

He cried out something that sounded like a canticle, but then followed it up with, "Wait, wait, I...Maker, I don't know if I can...um. And I'd really like to. With you."

Lana released her kiss upon him and she scurried forward, but not without letting his balls gently touch against her skin as she did. By the time she reached his face, he was blotchy from an internal strain. The same damn one he put her under. It was only fair. But by the Maker, did he look adorable, struggling to keep his balance and also apologize. Lana kissed each word away. She wanted every inch of him as well.

Her legs wrapped around his stomach, the thighs pulling tight against him as she danced her tongue against his. Slowly, her fingers drifted down his back, the nails reviving his skin. She pressed her own lower lips tighter against him, grinding to drive back the pleasure through her body.

"Maker, I want you," Cullen moaned into her mouth.

Without answering him, Lana's fingers slipped down off his back and wiggled between her legs to grab onto his cock. While watching those honey eyes, she guided him inside of her. Andraste's tears, it had been a long time. His cock pressed against every inch of her neglected body, that sweet pressure driving her fingers to dig tight into his shoulder and throw her head back into the pillow.

Cullen thrust softly at first, only his first few inches slipping in and out. Each one relaxed her more, the pain giving way to her preferred exquisite torture. Lana's legs slipped lower, knotting behind his ass so she could meet him thrust for thrust and take even more inside. Even with his arms trembling, he continued at a soft rocking, pausing to press his lips to her forehead before beginning again. He didn't want it to end. Maker, did she? Wrapped up below the man every woman seemed to want, screwing away in a gilded bed in an Orlesian Palace, Lana found herself believing in the Maker's side. Though, it was hard to think it could possibly be any better than this.

Moaning, he yanked his head back and swallowed, rising up from her. Lana rose up on her elbows, her chest bouncing from her own staggered breathing. "Now?" she asked.

"Now," he answered. Cullen grabbed one of her legs and pushed it forward until her ankle rested upon his shoulder. The second dug around his back, opening her up to take him in. Thrusting faster than before, Lana struggled to rise higher, trying to line her own throbbing parts against his pubic bone. But then she shook her head at the simpler option. Cracking open into the fade, she drew forth a rather easy spell upon her fingers. It was a gentle pulse designed to get someone's attention, and it could be placed anywhere on the body. Cullen watched curious as she slipped the pulsing spell onto her middle finger, then, sliding her hand between their bodies, touched her clitoris. The throbbing was immediate, knocking against her already inflamed tissue. She squirmed, arching higher into him. Lana's eyes flew open to see a hunger growling across his face. His hips began anew, thrusting every inch of himself deeper and deeper inside of her. With the pulse working its magic, she felt like his cock was boring her out in the best way possible. Grunting from his own build up, Cullen slipped his hand under Lana's backside and lifted her hips higher.

Sweet Andraste! That final move pushed her off the cliff as every fiber in her body shattered into a million pieces. The warmth walloped up her stomach and down her thighs and she groaned through every internal wave of her vagina wrapping tighter against him. Lana's fingers reached for anything to grab and dug into Cullen's shoulders. He hung on for another three thrusts before his own body tightened and he threw his head back.

"Maker's something," Cullen moaned, every muscle inside him collapsing. Lana landed against the bed, and he nearly crashed on top of her, but she held him up, her hands pressed against his chest. "Oh, Maker," he sputtered, blinking to return to reality.

She released her hold as Cullen had enough sense to keep himself suspended above her, though his eyes were still dewy, his body slick with perspiration. Wrapping her hands around his chest, Lana pulled him to her and caressed down his back.

"That was..." he tried again.

"Sex?" she threw out, getting a chuckle.

"I believe it was that, true," Cullen lowered to his elbows so he could part the hair stuck to her forehead. His skin glowed from the firelight which was now roaring in the hearth. She bit back a frown from losing so much control, but Cullen didn't notice. Didn't care. He placed another kiss against her lips, then her forehead. "You are, I still can't believe you're here."

"For a few hours, anyway," Lana said. "Until they kick us out for being turnip farmers."

Cullen smiled, but he brushed off her jibe. "Lana, I..."

She cut off his comment with a kiss, her fingers curling along his jaw, "You're amazing."

"No, I'm fairly certain it's you who deserves the honor. I'd forgotten how..." he twisted on his legs and glanced down at her own knot of pubic hair, "What was that throb you added?"

"Ah, a little spell. An attention pulse you can leave for signals or set to...you probably don't want its full history," she blushed, but his fingers cupped her cheek, a heartwarming grin on his face.

"It was like nothing I'd ever felt before."

Now she smirked, "There are perks to sleeping with a mage."

He dipped down to kiss her sweetly. As he pulled back, he whispered, "Only you." Gently, he twisted his hips lower, removing himself from her. She was almost sad to lose that last part of him. Lana sat up on her elbows to watch, when exhaustion yanked her back.

"Maker, I'm going to need a week to sleep off the clowns, and another two to sleep off that."

Cullen tossed his trousers off the end of his feet and climbed into bed beside her. Slipping to the side of the bed, Lana yanked up the forgotten blanket tumbled to the floor. Returning to him, she pressed her head to his chest while he draped the blanket across both of them. "I'm glad to know I can beat out clowns."

She was never one to crash right after sex, though Alistair was practically mid-sentence awake and then boom head on the pallet, ass in the air gone. But now sleep haunted through her mind, trying to coax her down into its tendrils. His hands dug into her shoulders, their warm and sweaty bodies chilling in the cold air in spite of the blanket. Through the fog, Lana dampened down the fireplace until only a hint of light sparked from the embers. A strange feeling gurgled up inside of her and she started upon realizing it was happiness. How did she forget that?

"Cullen," she sighed into his chest, "it was worth it."

* * *

"...And you say you discovered this information from a crystal?" Vivienne's crisp words drifted around the table, her elbows expertly dipped below the lip as she sawed into her breakfast tart. How Madam de Fer could hack apart something that could collapse a hurlock's skull with such dainty grace was beyond Lana. They were some of the few people gathered at one of the many recovery nooks scattered across the Winter Palace. After sneaking out of Cullen's room before dawn, Lana found her original room. She dressed quickly in her old traveling clothes and stumbled across Madam de Fer laying into the spread the servants placed upon the table.

"It wasn't a crystal, precisely," Lana explained while prodding at the runny yolks of her eggs. "But blood that'd been crystalized."

"Blood magic," Cassandra breathed. She was out of her 'idiotic finery' and back in her preferred Seeker outfit. Despite the long night, the Seeker seemed alert and unaffected by the festivities save the arm she kept thrown across her eyes.

"Ancient elven blood magic," Lana corrected. "It seemed to mention Arlathan itself."

"Of course, I should have anticipated such," Vivienne huffed. "What else could contain so much information but blood?"

The three women broke from their conversation about Knight-Enchanters at the sound of a man crashing through a side door. "So sorry, don't seem to be able to open my eyes this morning. Or most mornings," Dorian's silky voice apologized to the servants he ran into. Despite the claims of pain, he glanced down the small stairs and grinned upon the trio at the end of the table. "Maker's breath, I'd thought I'd be the first to rise."

"Ha," Cassandra laughed. "I've been awake since dawn."

"By all that is good in thedas, for what purpose?" Dorian whined as he yanked out a chair. Practically collapsing into it, the man banged his forehead into the table and sighed. Unable to move it, he motioned for the servants to set the table around him.

"Why, my dear Lord Pavus, are you suffering from a bit too much celebrating?" Vivienne asked.

"Of course I am. They wouldn't stop toasting us, then they had to toast the toasting. And it would be rude to not toast to the wine itself, no matter how dreadful it may be," Dorian's mumbling earned a nod of agreement from Vivienne. He picked his head up to stare at his fellow heroes of Orlais and groaned again, "Why aren't you two in the same sorry state as me?"

"Pentaghasts never suffer from hangovers."

"Really?" Lana leaned forward, "Is there something tied to your dragon hunting blood or..."

"No, we simply never start drinking, or never stop. Either way," Cassandra shrugged, a whisper of a smile on her lips.

"But I know you were deep into the wine, Vivienne," Dorian continued needing anyone else to suffer along with him.

"Oh darling, the first thing one learns at court is how to pace oneself lest you become the fool who spends the night with vomit upon his shoes."

Dorian threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He looked so pathetic, his ramshackle hair plastered to a sweaty forehead, she almost wanted to heal him. But to do so unasked to another mage was impolite and could be construed poorly. Instead, she stirred her eggs some more wondering if she had enough control to cook the runny mess with her fingers.

"And what of our Warden friend here? Didn't see you at the after-death party. Were you busy drinking behind the scenes?"

"I was too busy healing people to do any drinking," Lana admitted.

"You and Blackwall are tried and true exemplary specimens of Grey Wardens - a teetotaling puritanical bunch who'd probably blush at the sight of an ankle," Dorian stung back. Lana only shrugged, she had nothing to prove to him or anyone else for that matter.

Climbing down the stairs into their little nook came the Inquisitor wrapped up in his own discussion with Cullen. The pair were in as heated a talk as one could get over waste extraction for armies, but Cullen broke for a moment to smile at her. Lana grinned back, then wiped it away, her focus turning back to her eggs. She didn't want to appear the blushing maiden in front of everyone. The Inquisitor's fingers lingered for a moment upon the back of Dorian's chair before he guided himself to the one beside it.

"Nice to see us all awake, long before the rest of the court," the Inquisitor said.

Cullen rounded the long way around the table, a noticeable limp as he favored his left leg. Odd, she didn't remember him limping after the battle. Pointing at the commander, Dorian called out, "Too much exertion fighting off a few harlequins?"

Yanking out his own chair beside Cassandra, Cullen lowered himself to his breakfast. For a brief moment his eye caught Lana and a guilty pleasure glittered in them. Oh, so that was it. Turning away from her, he inspected the offerings and snatched up a hunk of bread, "Something of that nature."

"What do you do with templars when they age past their usefulness in the South? Put them out to stud?"

"Dorian," the Inquisitor whispered a warning.

Cullen shook his head and glowered at his breakfast. "I'm too exhausted to argue. Just continue with whatever you were on about and leave me to eat."

"Did we miss anything important?" the Inquisitor continued. His fingers danced near the tevinter mage's without actually touching them.

"Yes, I was trying to delve into the backbone of the Grey Warden order. Determine what drives such a force to run head long into what most people would wisely run away from," Dorian crowed. His obstinance seemed to blot away the pain of his hangover. "Seems our warden friend here is against drinking."

"I never said that," Lana interjected.

"And now I've moved on to the question of other peccadilloes the wardens resolve from their nature."

"This should be interesting," Cassandra sat up higher in her chair, her boot banging into the table.

"Duty bound, devoted to the cause, forsaking every temptation and all that," Dorian continued, "very noble. I find myself curious if wardens have also abandoned the sins of the flesh."

"Dorian!" the Inquisitor hissed.

"What? We all know no one's getting through that mat of bear fur we occasionally call Blackwall. I wonder about our warden friend here. She seems to clean up all right. Is the celibate life more a feature of the Grey Wardens or a choice."

Lana shifted in her seat, blisteringly aware of every eye burning through her from the mage's sudden interest in her social life. She didn't look up from her breakfast, terrified she'd glance in Cullen's direction and give everything away. Rifling through any option to get rid of Dorian's fascination, it was the Seeker who came to the rescue of the mage.

"For the Maker's sake," Cassandra snorted, "you don't need to keep showing off. We all know you two are involved," she gestured to Dorian and the Inquisitor, the former who beamed and the latter that blushed, "we simply don't care."

"You, um," the Inquisitor for once seemed lost for words, "ah...Dorian?"

His lover shrugged, "I never said a word, Amatus." The Inquisitor knocked into Dorian's shoulder, but his eyes smoldered - he was in deep. Enjoy it while it lasts, Lana thought. She felt Cullen's eyes trying to pierce through her, but she kept her head bowed in contemplation. Only a tiny smile played against her lips, giving away that she had every intention to replay the events of last night once they were away from the Winter Palace.

"So," Dorian continued, "whose sex life do we discuss next?"


	14. Chapter 14

Skyhold's great hall bustled as Josephine directed a stack of crates originally bound for the stables, but someone got their missives crossed and the linens meant for the dining tables wound up being fed to horses. It was a mark of her grace that the ambassador maintained her cool instead of strangling the shrugging carter with her half digested tablecloth. Lana'd been watching the display for awhile waiting for the ambassador to snap. A few people tried to intercede on Josephine's behalf, but most were moving further and further away from the merchant all sending the blood about to be shed. Lana hovered in the corner while clinging tighter to her staff. Devoid of its blade, it blended in as a walking stick but she hated having it out in the open, having her out in the open.

Sure, other mages waltzed through Skyhold as if it was a circle's courtyard but even they left their staves in the armory. No one wanted to be the errant flame loosed in a barrel of powder.

"Ah, Warden," the Inquisitor's pinched voice called from a door. Varric's head swooped away from the ambassador waving the hay in people's faces and calmly explaining how it was not linen. The dwarf's eyes danced from Inquisitor to Warden, but whatever the Inquisitor wanted couldn't compete with a man trying to press the hay to the wall and pretend it was sticking.

"You asked for me," Lana dipped her head to the Inquisitor.

"Forgive me, I was speaking with...um," and that steely resolve snapped for a moment. She knew exactly who he was speaking with, though it was doubtful much speaking was involved. Not that she was going to call him to task for it. "I see you brought your staff. Excellent."

Her fingers rolled through the deeper indentations pricking against old names she feared to forget. "Yes?" Her 'as you asked' went unsaid.

"As I understand it, your early tour of Skyhold was less than satisfactory." The elf's grey eyes brightened to an almost pale blue in the light from his stained glass windows. He shook off that glumness that plagued his sinew like knocking dust off the hay linens during spring.

"It has been confined more or less to my room and the dining hall," Lana admitted. After returning from Halamshiral, she ventured out with Hawke a few times under the pretense of exploring and yet with each trip they wound up in the tavern. Hawke seemed to be under the illusion she could drink the qunari under the table once she discovered his weakness. Lana suspected his only weakness was sneaking in on his blindside and redheads.

The Inquisitor bobbed his head, "I thought, given your performance at the Winter Palace, that it should be rectified. Please, follow me." He guided her deeper into the great hall and past his throne.

"My performance?" Lana asked. As far as she knew it'd ranked somewhere around satisfactory. Well, as far as the Inquisitor was concerned. The commander gave a hearty endorsement.

"I heard about your initiative to rescue my people, and your endeavors in the ballroom saved even more lives," he threw open a side door on his right and stepped down a giving staircase. Lana followed after and the sight knocked a breath from her. She leaned upon her staff to find her balance. Blacksmithing tools sang throughout the undercroft, furnaces buffeting out smoke while whet stones honed blades for the next mission. That wasn't surprising to the old Warden Commander who didn't start the day without a trip through an armory. What gave her pause was the missing back wall revealing a bright blue sky broken up by the jagged teeth of the white mountain. And below them all was the eternal rush of a waterfall pounding through the crevices to thunder miles deep. She wanted to scamper over and hang her head off the edge, reach towards it and feel the force of every drop against her hand. Why was Skyhold perched over top such power? Was the waterfall used for some hidden devices in the Keep, ancient elven devices? She hadn't seen any mills in the area, though it would make sense to implement one with the growing army. They'd mentioned elves having created Skyhold before humans even came to thedas. Would they have needed the waterfall to...? Lana shook away her eternal questions; if there was an answer someone else in the hold was probably working on it right now.

"Impressive?" the Inquisitor posed, smiling over his domain. She bobbed her head appreciatively, then nodded a few more times. Despite missing out on most of the game in the Winter Palace, Lana felt she was dancing to a new tune now with him, one that could backfire if she failed in a step.

The Inquisitor lightened up considerably surrounded by the crash of steel, his wary eyes lifting in an almost smile. "Seeing as we are about to approach the Western, well, Approach." He blushed from his verbal fumble and Lana began to understand what the brash tevinter mage saw in him - raw vulnerability buried under his formal armor. Shaking his head, the Inquisitor began anew, "An update to your weapons and/or armor might be useful."

"Ah..." Lana's fingers ran up and down the length of her staff. She'd had plenty of time and opportunity to switch it out over the years. Wade had crafted a thing of beauty for her out of dragon bone. But, no matter how many powerful staves she kept locked in her armory, this was the one that carried her into battle. The one that carried her back out.

"Our blacksmith is a professional," the Inquisitor continued, as if needing to impress her. He gestured to the man working the forge. The smith only grunted in response and returned to his work. "A new staff blade could help, or our arcanist could work in a more powerful rune."

"You have a tranquil to enchant items?" Lana asked. She gazed over the handful of people working the forge, but couldn't see anyone with the sunburst burned into their forehead.

The Inquisitor tapped his fingers against his collar bone and gazed up, "Not precisely. Our arcanist is not what one would expect, but she's amazing. Dagna!" He called the name out into the undercroft, his voice echoing above the waterfall's din. Why did that strike a chord inside her brain?

"Yes? Oh, you're back! I hoped you'd be back because..." a dwarven woman prodded her head from around a stack of boxes. She smiled at the Inquisitor then turned to the mage standing beside him. That's when the woman squealed a pitch high enough to blanket out the whine of whetting blades. "By the paragons, and ancestors, and anyone else super old listening in. It's you! It is you? It has to be you! I never thought I'd ever see you again!" She flew up the side stairs and ensnared her arms around Lana with such force the mage almost tipped backwards.

"I, uh..." Lana was dumbstruck by the attention and bit down an instinctive urge to pat the head of the woman burying her head into her stomach. From beside her, she felt the castigating eye of the Inquisitor drawing across her.

"You don't remember me, do you?" the woman said, but her eyes and cheeks didn't stop smiling. "It's okay. You had a lot going on, world changing stuff really, with blight, and dwarven politics, and that whole war thing. But I'll never forget you. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

Lana blinked, the whisper of a memory elongating, "Dagna?" Then it clicked. "Dagna! The dwarven girl who wanted to study magic. Maker, what are you doing here?"

The dwarf squealed again and spun around in a circle, "You remembered me! How could you, we only spoke five and a half sentences? Oh, but of course you would. You probably remember everyone you meet."

"That's not entirely..." Lana tried to get a word in, but Dagna was too far gone.

"What am I doing here? Exactly what you helped me to do. Magic! Well, enchanting. You know I can't do magic. Not the way you do, with the ice and sparks all over the place. Pew pew pew," she squeaked in awe, her eyes glazing over, as she waved her hands around like casting magic.

The Inquisitor coughed, breaking up the adoration, "I take it you've met the Warden before, Dagna."

"Met? She's the one who got me into the circle. Helped me to study magic. The only reason I'm not stuck in Orzammar right now bored out of my mind in the smith class."

"I see..." the Inquisitor leaned away from the dwarf catching up with an old friend. Lana could sense the door she'd creaked open with him slamming shut, and she had a pretty good idea why. At the Winter Palace she didn't interfere in his plans, deferring to the role of side soldier and little more. It kept the line of command simple with no one else gawping at the great hero, and now...

Dagna grabbed onto her hand, her eyes dissecting up and down her weapon as her fingers caressed it, "Is this it? The same staff from the Blight? Ancestors, I'd expect this to be in a reliquary or something fancy for people to pray to. Hm, solid core no doubt, and you've kept good care of it but everyone could use an update. What about something from everite?"

"That's quite all right," Lana interceded even as she let the dwarven woman keep a hold of her staff. "I don't need anything new."

"Oh," Dagna slapped her forehead, "of course, what you need is a rune. And not just any rune. I've been working on something that'll... Wait until you see it. It's probably my best work ever. And it'll be perfect for you. Please?!" Her eyes opened wide as she begged to show off to Lana.

Unable to crush her heart, Lana gave a, "Go ahead." Dagna yelped and dashed away to her workstation, Lana's staff in her hands.

The chill off the Inquisitor was evident and grew as Dagna began to sing under her breath. "My spymaster is an old friend of yours. You are related to the Champion of Kirkwall and have some undivulged history with Varric. I later learn you have a connection with the Arishock Iron Bull also answers to. And now it comes to my attention that I owe my arcanist's talents to your machinations." His steel eyes cut through her, causing Lana to stiffen. "Is there anyone else in Skyhold who owes their allegiance to you?"

"None of them would..." Lana began when Dagna broke from her work to wave at the warden with such fervor her elbow smacked into a pile of shields, scattering them to the ground. This wasn't helping her case.

"Right," the Inquisitor shook his head. "Do not think I am unaware of my precarious perch. To have the humans, with ties to the chantry, place so much power in a dalish elf's hands is unheard of. It is not beyond the pale to suspect them to yank it away from the elf savage at their first opportunity."

"I'm a mage," Lana cut in. In the scheme of things, she ranked above him in the eyes of the nobility, but not by much.

"A mage who has already saved the world once, built up alliances across thedas including the entire kingdom of Ferelden, if I am not mistaken."

"Don't let the name fool you, I don't command any armies there." She shifted back to Dagna to keep from wanting to knock those inspecting eyes out of his head. He lived up to his title well.

"No? But the rumors tying you with the King are..."

Lana's fingers bunched up into fists. Despite Alistair taking his perceived high road all those years ago, of course people spread lies that the Hero of Ferelden was seducing the new king, bedding the new king. How else would he stand a chance in power if she wasn't the one behind the throne? She'd shook them off as nonsense knowing that no matter what she wanted, she'd never touched the man when he was king. At least, she hadn't until...

"They are ancient," Lana responded, her own voice ice. "Ask your Spymaster if you don't believe me."

"Who would have no reason to lie, of course," the Inquisitor continued.

She could be enraged at his constant needling of her, but she understood. In this game, you watched everyone. Allies of convenience could turn even more deadly than enemies once the winds shifted. And her insisting she didn't want his job, didn't wish to taste his power, would only seem like a pathetic ploy to throw him off the scent. Leliana could handle herself, probably better than most. Hawke wouldn't care, assuming she'd even notice. Lana knew nothing of the Iron Bull, but if the Inquisitor truly thought she had any command of Sten then he needed to learn more of the world and quickly. Dagna was scrappy, unlikely to let anything stick upon her. No, there was only one concern for where Lana's undue influence lay, and she wasn't about to endanger him.

"If you wish to question me about something, have at it. I've been more than reasonable, more open than most other wardens you'd find." She didn't glare at the Inquisitor, only blanked her face and waited. For a moment, his calm broke, revealing a hint of his own pressures building behind him. She only had the wardens to worry about now, he had the entire world perched upon his shoulders. It was a feeling that still haunted her dreams at night, along with every other problem in her life. If they weren't at odds she'd almost want to offer up her own advice for how to live through it.

"I am asking you now so there are no more surprises later. Is there anyone else in Skyhold, anyone else loyal to the Inquisition whom you have aided or befriended in the past?"

She curled her hands around her stomach and thought, "I believe I once bought a horse off Master Dennet. Though that was ages ago, and it's doubtful he'd remember me now." The Inquisitor's eyes hunted over her face as he bobbed his head, her relation to the horsemaster apparently acceptable. Lana turned away and faced out at the waterfall. Her curiosity was dampened about it now thanks to the politics in the air. "Ah," she snapped her fingers as if suddenly remembering, "And your Commander, I heard he served in the same Circle as I for a couple of years before I joined the wardens."

The Inquisitor smiled, "That should be no problem. I can understand why he would not say anything."

"Oh?"

"His severity in the order is well known. And it's not as if templars and mages make for good bedfellows."

She didn't swallow in guilt or glance over at him, only grimly nodded her head. Mages and templars weren't supposed to be close, weren't meant to get along. But she knew more than her fair share of both sides who defected in the night. How would he, a Dalish no less, understand the complicated world of the Circle? To anyone outside the towers it appeared simple enough. The black chess piece facing off against the white, an eternal struggle where battles are won but never the war. No one ever wondered what happens on the board when the game isn't being fought. The quiet times when the black and white pawn find themselves falling for each other across the few squares in spite of every rule against it. Sometimes, it seemed like it would be easier if they did only hate each other.

"Hey!" Dagna waved her hand again, then ran towards Lana with her staff. She passed the wood to the mage's arms while chattering, "I can't believe you managed to get three enchantments into this."

"It took some doing, and a lot of research," Lana admitted, cupping her hands around that extension of her. Mounds and mounds of research while traveling across most of thedas done during her rare quiet moments. She'd been attending to other matters, but there was always room for improvement for both herself and her staff.

"Well, it's at four now."

Lana started, her head snapping up to Dagna. "Four? Andraste's grace, how did you get four into this?"

"By recalibrating the thaumic energy from your frost rune, I could divert the flow past that, uh darkspawn slaying one of yours. This opened up enough space for me to slot in what I've been working on," Dagna pointed to an indentation she made in the head of the staff. Most mages would have a crystal there, but Lana sacrificed it for the enchantments. Though, she did take the time to carve a small griffin into the end. She wasn't entirely beyond aesthetics. Reaching into her pocket, Dagna unearthed a rune and slotted it into place. The staff hummed to life, power reverberating up and down the core of the wood. Power she'd normally have to work her own mana into it to achieve.

"Maker's breath, Dagna, this is brilliant!" Lana beamed. The dwarf jumped up, clapping her hands in joy, and then she caught the mage in another hug. "What is the rune you inserted, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Ah, it's one of the corrupting ones," she still clung to Lana like a proud child.

"Corrupting ones?"

"Thanks to the Inquisitor's work, I've been whipping them up left and right. They use red lyrium to corrupt any uncorrupted individuals into corruptedness. Corrupting all around." Dagna chattered ecstatic about her invention, but Lana's smile froze. Red lyrium. She'd been tracking the stuff for a few months with Hawke and Anders on her heel. They didn't travel everywhere together. It would have raised suspicion and with each passing day Lana feared she'd finally make good on her promise to end Anders. Maker, she forgot how annoying that man could be, even with Justice knocking about in his head. By the time she thought she had a breakthrough, Corypheus attacked the Temple and everything in the world changed.

"I see..." Lana said, twisting her staff around. She was less than thrilled about the power inside of it now.

"Do you like it? I hope you like it. Please tell me you like it," Dagna sputtered out.

Plastering on a smile, Lana nodded at her, "It's perfect. Maker only knows what I'll face soon. Thank you, Dagna. You've done amazing work."

"She has indeed," the Inquisitor spoke up. Dagna blushed from all the attention, but Lana caught the edge of the threat. The dwarven arcanist did the work only at the behest of the Inquisition, no one else. Lana slipped her staff back and forth in her hands, getting a feel for the imperceptible change in weight. Most wouldn't notice a three gram rune tacked onto the top, but she'd lived with this staff for ten years. A raindrop changed her form.

The Inquisitor watched her, his own arms folded up, "You best prepare yourself. I hear a storm is coming."

Lana squared her shoulders and nodded. She was ready for whatever storms thedas would dare throw her way.


	15. Chapter 15

Frozen rain splattered against her face and she raised up her barrier, but even that could only block a quarter of the force of nature raging against her. "When he said a storm, I thought he was being metaphorical!" Lana screamed in the wind to her compatriot. Hawke shrugged. She began the night with a shield but it didn't last long. Hawke seemed to be allergic to the things.

The final vestiges of a vengeful winter blasted across Skyhold. Normally, it would require everyone to hole up in their rooms beside the fire listening to the howl of the wind and setting up for a round of babies in nine months, but this wasn't any storm. Perhaps it was because of the tear in the sky, or the increasing movement of people flocking through the mountains that created winds roaring enough to tip towers back and forth. Ice sheets formed within an hour over doors and windows, trapping the faithful inside.

"He said we had to get the main gate closed. Or was it open?" Hawke screamed. All of the mages assembled in the great hall once the storm began. The orders came from the Inquisitor that they were to use whatever magic was at their disposal to combat the storm and keep Skyhold in one piece. Soldiers slipped in and out of the chattering robes to accompany the mages at the behest of their commander. The mages weren't happy about it, but Cullen explained they weren't there to control them, only to provide cover and protection. Even Lana thought he was speaking half truths until she got into the wind. Hawke had to pin her arms down and cling tight to keep Lana from whipping away over the wall.

"We are to close the gates without destroying them!" Lana screamed. She didn't bring proper winter gear with her to Skyhold, certainly nothing to survive this blizzard. If it weren't for her maintaining a constant internal burn across her skin, she'd be as frozen solid as the winch upon the battlements.

"Right!" Hawke wrapped her hands around the massive gear, "Tell me when to turn."

"Maker, help me," Lana moaned. She peered over the edge to spy the great chain leading down to the door. Right now the open door was creating a dangerous wind tunnel churning through the courtyard. If they didn't get it closed, who knew how much damage this storm could inflict. Swiping snow out of her eyes, Lana twisted up the fire inside of her and aimed it at the metal chain. Fire was never her friend, not the way it was for some mages. She could manipulate it, call it into being, but it fought back and using it so close to wood set her teeth on edge. Twisting her fingers as far from the landing as possible, her flames coated the chain. The icy buildup began to melt, dripping away from the gears.

"Try it now!" she cried at Hawke.

Putting those muscles to good use, her cousin leaned into the winch. The chain rose a few feet, taking the drawbridge with it. Lana kept a constant spray of fire aimed far from both of them, her fingers freeing the chain that Hawke hauled upward. It was working and so far she hadn't set anything else on fire. "Wait!" Lana shouted, and Hawke grabbed onto the wheel before it all spun back. "We have to get the other side!"

"How's that gonna work?" Hawke shouted back through the howling winds. "This ain't gonna hold."

"If we don't do it together, the chain will snap," Lana explained, waving her hand towards the other winch on the far battlements.

"Why don't those two handle it?" Hawke gestured to a pair of men inching their way towards the high wall. One was an elf, his bald head slick with ice and snow, the other...Lana blinked and shook her head. For a moment he looked like a bear growling into the winds, a hand thrown up against them as he leaned into it. "Hey you!" Hawke tried to lift her voice over the wind but there was no chance it would carry. Mercifully, the men appeared to have the same idea as them.

While the probably not a bear heaved onto the winch, the elven mage directed his own fire at the chain. Slowly, their side lifted to join with Lana's and Hawke's. "All right!" Hawke cried, "Let's get this door open!"

"Closed," Lana sighed.

"Whatever!" Hawke screamed back, having the time of her life despite the threat of frostbite and high mountain winds chucking them off the walls and to their deaths. Lana directed the next blast of fire at the chain while Hawke did what she did best. In fact, she did it so well, Lana had to call for her to stop on occasion so the men would catch up.

"Are you showing off?" Lana asked, shaking her head. She could only see Hawke out of the corner of her eye.

Her cousin shrugged a shoulder while keeping her grip on the winch, "Wouldn't you?"

It took a few more turns of the wheel, but by and by, the drawbridge shuttered, closing off the gap with a final thud. Almost instantly the wind died down in the courtyard. People rose up from their hunkered down stance to run for it, no longer fighting against the wind to try and secure the horses and tents. At least someone thought to move the injured off the ground and into shelter before the true storm began. The only remaining job was sealing off the winch. Hawke reached for the lock, but it wouldn't budge.

"Uh, cuz, you think you can unfreeze this too?" she asked, pointing at the lock.

Lana twisted around, certain she could do anything, when she spotted the lock buried inside a wooden beam that connected to the scaffolding running down to the door. Shaking her head, she zipped away any fire inside her, even blanketing down the burn. Cold thundered against her skin, the ice nipping like tiny insects across her face and fingers. "So, I just stay here until the storm passes then?" Hawke asked.

"I have another idea." Lana rolled her fingers and called up her old friend ice. "Slip to the side, please," she ordered. While Hawke reached as far as she could without letting go, Lana unleashed her own winter storm upon the winch. Ice sheets piled two, three, four meters thick, coating the winch in an impenetrable shield. Hawke yanked her hand away as Lana finished her dome, sealing the lock until summer or someone with a better control of fire came along.

"And that's why we call you Snowflake," Hawke cooed, wiping her hands against her pants.

"You don't call me Snowflake," Lana answered back, exhaustion swirling through her arms.

"How about him?" Hawke pointed behind her and Lana twisted around to follow it. On the higher level, Cullen stood alone trying to hack his way into a door.

"What about him?" She shook her head, trying to keep up with the conversation, but her eyes didn't drift from the lone man struggling against the winds. Her fingers ached to throw a barrier around him, but it'd never reach at this distance.

"Do you think he needs help?" Hawke asked.

Spinning to face her, Lana nodded, "No idea how we'll get up there."

"I've got something. How're your climbing skills?" Hawke asked. She dipped down to a knee and bundled her hands together like a stool.

Warily eyeing up her cousin, Lana stepped into it. Her fingers tried to find a grip on the champion's armor that was coated in ice. "They're shit, why?"

"Then hang on," Hawke shouted. Like she was chucking a log during a competition, Hawke threw Lana into the sky. She wished she could say she didn't scream, or curse her cousin in every language available to her, but as her body flew through the stinging night air her brain crashed to panic mode. It wasn't until she was on the downward trajectory that Lana realized she'd have to catch herself or risk a broken leg. Reaching forward against the wind, her hands managed to snag the end of a ladder someone began to pull away from the edge. Her feet dug into the icy rock and she hung just off a fall over the cliff's edge. Whispering a curse and thanks, Lana scrabbled up to the next level.

After making certain she wasn't dead, she turned around and shouted at her cousin, "Why did you do that?!"

"Because it worked, of course."

"Sweet Andraste, take me now," Lana muttered. She wiped her face off, reviving her internal burning to shake off the ice. Gathering what strength remained in her wobbling legs, she chased after Cullen along the battlements. His sword was doing little by way of getting into the door because he kept pausing to check the snow threatening to slip off the roof.

"What do you need?" Lana shouted behind him.

Cullen twisted partially around and nodded at her, "There's blankets and other stores inside that might be useful, but..." he gestured to the snow above him.

"Got it," Lana steadied herself against the winds. This high up, they were no longer an annoyance but a real threat. If she lost her footing, she was going over the wall where a crushing death awaited her. Digging into her mana, Lana called up a spell. Cullen continued his way into the door now with wild abandon. He didn't glance up at the snow drifting ever closer to him with each slash against the hinges, trusting she'd handle it.

The door cracked, bending to his whims, when the snow made a move. Gritting her teeth, and with the force of the fade, Lana shoved every flake of it off the door, over the battlements, and onto the cliffs below. Blinking from her display, Cullen turned around, "I thought you were going to set it on fire or something."

"That'd burn the whole room down."

"Right." He gestured to a pair of soldiers clinging desperately to the wall, "Get in there, take what you can. I need to check on the other side. You up for more?" His wary eyes warned her she didn't need to risk it, but she smiled.

"Only if you are." Lana tossed up a barrier between them. Taking the lead, Cullen relied on his body to block the snow and ice, but the wind was winnowing to a small squall in his wake, one that tossed Lana back and forth across the slippery stone. She inched closer and closer to him to combat the gale forces, until her fingers gripped into the back of his armor plate. Bending her head low to fight off of the ice, they slid around the battlements.

"What are we looking for?" she shouted.

"Anyone else in trouble," he called back. They passed in front of one of the block of rooms that'd been left in disarray. Holes in the roof were now plugged by the torrential snow, which was building higher and higher. It had to be at least two feet that'd fallen and climbing fast. How was so damn much moisture in the air up here?

A crack sundered through the roof snow, and both of them looked up at it. "I'm sure it's fine," Lana said. The overhang ended right at the edge of the doors, meaning if it did fall they'd be buried in it.

Winds snapped against the snow piles again and the roof shifted forward. Lana dipped into her mana, preparing the spell, when the minuscule grasp the snow had on the roof gave out. She tried to aim anything up at it, but it was Cullen who bull rushed her out of the way of the impending avalanche. His weight carried them against the door which burst open on aging hinges, and together, they tumbled into the room while a ton of snow splattered into their only exit. Pain cracked into her spine from the fall while the frozen armor on Cullen's chest piece almost smashed through her sternum. Lana's eyes rolled up at the man pinned on top of her. He'd thrown his arms out in time to keep from completely crushing her, which was nice. She'd be in an even sorrier state if he'd continued on to the floor with her in between.

Without any fanfare, Cullen jumped back to his knees and rose up. He spun to face the door bouncing against the wall while Lana rolled to her side, her fingers prodding against her back. She hadn't severed anything, but she landed upon a book in the middle of the floor. "Hard in Hightown, volume 9," she read aloud off the cover. "These things are everywhere."

"Do you think you can melt this?" Cullen gestured to the fallen snow blocking the door almost to the top. Drifts of it scattered into the room, but most decided to flatten against the doorframe, the ice storm quickly shifting it to a frozen blockade trapping them inside.

Lana rose to her feet and an involuntary groan rolled out of her throat. There were going to be new bruises, she was certain. Slightly guilty, Cullen turned to her and tried to offer help but she shook it away. Massaging her back, she inspected the snow pile. A powerful burst of fire would melt most of it away, except the entire frame of the door was in the way. And that wood connected to other wood all along this face of rooms filled with Maker only knew how much kindling. One errant breeze, and she would be the one to destroy Skyhold.

"I don't think I should risk it," Lana said. "Not a full blast anyway. The entire place could go up like tinder." Shame twisted up her stomach and she turned away, "I'm not the best at controlling flame. Sorry."

Cullen's gloves ran across her arm, squeezing as he spoke, "It's all right. We'll think of something."

"I can try small bursts," she said. While Cullen stood behind her shoulders, Lana snapped her fingers knocking a spark of fire in the middle of the snow. It flared briefly before the dripping snow extinguished it. She tried again, getting the same result. "This may, uh, take some time."

Cullen chuckled and threw his head back, massaging his cheeks with his fingers, "Do not bother. At that rate, the snow will have first melted from the summer sun."

"I'm trying..." she shuffled her feet, wishing she'd mastered a primal beyond ice. Sure, fire and lightning were flashier, but cold sang to her in a way the others never did. Now, ice was the last thing they needed.

His laughter sloughed away, and Cullen reached out to her. Caressing her cheek, the snow on his gloves melted against her over-warmed skin. "Oh, no, I...you're doing fine. Better than anything I could. I was only thinking how sadly hilarious it is that we're trapped here in our own damn keep because of a bit of snow."

"That's a bit? Maker, how long have you been on this mountain?" Lana reared back and Cullen chuckled again.

"Not long enough for a contingency plan, I fear. Still..." he gazed around the room. Like many of the other abandoned rooms in Skyhold, piles of shattered wood lay where furniture once stood. A pile of bunk beds crashed and rotted in on itself centuries ago, the moldy straw heaped in the middle. "There are few I'd rather be trapped with."

"I'd pick a fire mage first, then Hawke."

"Hawke?"

"She'd dive head first through that, probably eat a tunnel for us," Lana giggled at the image and Cullen joined with her, his fingers running along her shoulders and digging into her muscle below the cloak. Unclasping the hood, Lana tugged it off, snow tumbling to the floor about to become water. An antler hung suspended above the doorframe. After shutting the door, she dangled her wet cloak off it and then shimmied out of her boots.

"They're certain to come looking for us once the storm's passed," Cullen said.

"In the mean time, I guess we stay put." Lana's eyes hunted over the room that became an accidental prison. A small hearth claimed the west side of the room, so they could have heat assuming they find a source of kindling. Luckily, the rotted interiors of Skyhold provided more than enough. Pointing at the fireplace, Lana said, "I'll get a fire going if you can pry apart some of the old furniture."

Cullen nodded. He walked towards an old end table shattered into three pieces with a tree climbing through the middle, when he paused. "There isn't much point to wearing all of this now." To the antler, he added his furred surcoat beside Lana's cloak.

"How can you stand that much metal in the middle of a snow storm?" she asked while watching him strip out of each armored piece and lay them next to the wall beside her boots.

Shrugging, he yanked off his own shoes, "I barely notice it. It's not much heavier than the templar armor...um, was." Cullen stood only in a tan tunic - the unknotted ties revealing hints of his chest hair - his breeches, and a pair of wool socks.

Lana jerked her head to the scabbard flush against his hips, "Think you'll need that?"

He tapped the pommel of his sword, "How else will I hack apart the wood?"

"That's a good way to ruin your blade."

"I'll be gentle," he said earning a hearty laugh from her. Cullen got to work trying to use a sword to saw apart the table, while Lana dug through piles of wood scattered in a heap above something promising. She collected the smaller and mercifully dry pieces in her arms; they should make for acceptable firewood at least. After depositing the first pile into the hearth, she paused to watch Cullen abandon his sword before it was beyond repair. Gripping onto the legs of the end table, he pulled with all his strength, gritting from the strain to get them to pop apart. Lana mentally cursed the tunic obscuring every muscle flexing from the effort. It wasn't until the wood cracked and Cullen turned to her that she realized she'd been staring slack jawed at him.

"I, uh, should get back to...the wood, other wood. For fire stuff," she mumbled, covering her face with her hands. Why are you acting like you're seventeen around him? For the Maker's sake, you've already taken him inside you, more than once. She berated herself a few more times, but secretly delighted in the loops her stomach twisted in while he tossed the liberated table legs into the hearth. Lana never thought she'd feel those butterflies again.

"Do storms of this magnitude happen often in Skyhold?" she tried to start a conversation to pull away from the blush on her face.

"I wouldn't know," Cullen said, "this is the first."

"Really? Given how prepared and organized everyone was, I assumed these were a monthly occurrence." She yanked up a pile of molded wood and tossed it into the corner. Completely useless. "Even the mages were saluting and answering orders. Andraste's tears, it's easier to herd cats than get mages to fall into line."

"They, uh, they've served the Inquisition well," Cullen gulped. He prodded at the hearth, trying to break up more of the table into kindling.

"I know, I was...it's strange being around them again. They don't know what to make of me, not that I blame them. I'm an outsider, worse than that, I didn't fight in their rebellion. And..." Lana paused in her work, her head hanging down, "What do you think will come of the mages here?"

Cullen started, the table scattering out of his hands. His fingers massaged the back of his neck in thought, "I am uncertain. For now we're focused on Corypheus."

"Come now, Corypheus is gone, the world is saved. Hurray. What then?"

"What would you like to have happen?" he batted the question back at her.

"I'm so far removed from the equation now, I don't think I have a right to answer."

"And I have any better standing?" Cullen continued to dodge it. She shouldn't be picking at this, she knew that. They really did have the whole world ready to crumble from a mad man who maybe created the blight. And yet...

Lana walked towards him, her arms loaded with the last of the wood. After tossing it across the rest of the reclaimed wood pile, she wiped her fingers across her pants. Cullen remained crouched on one knee while snapping apart kindling. Her fingers curled against his shoulder, massaging apart the knot buried in there.

After a moment, he sighed into his chest, "You will not leave this be." Tossing the last of the brittle pieces into the hearth, his fingers cupped hers. "I do not relish the idea of mages being free to put others in danger, but the circles did not work. I saw more than my fair share of proof in Kirkwall. I let it..." He shook away the fault on his lips, but she knew he still bore it in his heart. "Given how things seem to be working here, perhaps a mixed service or healing clinics, pairing templars with mages not at odds but coming together to solve...It is only an idea." His shoulders sagged out of her grasp, deeper towards the ground from the burdens heaped upon them.

Falling to her own knee, Lana scooted towards the hearth and tried to catch Cullen's eye but he was too busy boring into the floor. "It's not a bad plan. I..." She dug into her own shoulder while glaring up at the ceiling. A few tiles were missing, but at least it was mostly intact. "I should not have asked. What's the three things to never talk about? Magic, Politics, and Sex?"

Cullen chuckled into his chest, "So, your thoughts on Celene maintaining her grip on the throne are next then?"

"I was only there to shoot ice at clowns, that's all on the Inquisitor or Orlais as far as I'm concerned," Lana turned to the hearth and flicked fire at his kindling. It took up a treat, flames licking up the wood as warmth coalesced across their faces. "I'm done putting asses on thrones."

With the fire roaring, thanks to a little coaxing by the mage, the pair of them settled on the floor beside it. Cullen sat rigid, his hands pressed against the stone ground until Lana picked one up, placed it upon her shoulder, and snuggled into his chest. His heart beat rapidly at the contact, the muscles in his body tightening as if afraid this was all some test, but after a minute he let himself relax.

"There are still snowflakes in your hair," Cullen remarked, his fingers trying to dig them out.

"Hm...I guess my warming spell doesn't work on hair. Actually," Lana twisted her head away from the fire to catch his eye, "that's curious. Why wouldn't it work on hair? It's a part of the body, the spell should work on living flesh, but does hair not count as living? Is that it? What about nails?" She turned her fingers about, wondering if her broken stubs behaved the same. "Oh, I uh..." embarrassment burned up her cheeks as she realized he probably didn't care.

But then Cullen picked up her thread, "You can pass that warming spell to other people? Or so I've seen. Would it affect someone else's hair?"

"I have no idea. Maybe. Maybe not."

"Here." Against all common sense, he reached for the melting snow piled by the door and dropped a handful onto his own head. "Try it on me."

Lana smiled at the commander of the Inquisition with a tuft of snow plopped on top of his head like a dollop of cream, but she placed her fingers upon his hand and willed a bit of her magic warmth through him. Not much in the already cozy room, but it should be enough to melt frozen water. A flush rose along his cheeks from her contact, but when he touched the top of his head it came back with clumps of frozen snow.

"Still ice cold."

"That's fascinating," she picked at the snow in his fingers, then leaned forward to knock the rest of it off his head. Her fingers tousled through his hair dampened from the snow and Lana lost herself in his compassionate eyes. She took him in a kiss, one almost as pure as the snow she knocked off him. Before it grew to anything more, she slipped back and smiled. "You didn't need to do that with the snow."

Cullen shrugged, "Maybe, but you made me curious as well."

Snuggling tighter into him, Cullen wrapped his arm around her shoulders while they watched the fire hissing against what used to be someone's table and nightstand. "How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" she asked.

He glanced out the slit of a window where white continued to flit through the night's sky, "Judging by the rate of accumulation, we may be here until morning."

"At least we have a bed at our disposal," Lana said gesturing to the one she unearthed from below the scattered remains of Maker only knew.

Cullen rose up beside her and tried to inspect it. The mattress was clearly made of straw, but anything was preferable to a stone floor. Someone was kind enough to leave a fur blanket stretched across it, though the frame itself bore similar signs of mold as the wood Lana chucked to the corner. "It doesn't appear sturdy."

"Sturdy?" Lana scoffed. "Is that an issue? What were you planning on doing in it?"

"I, uh, hadn't been planning on. I mean, not that, if you'd..."

She kissed him again, unable to restrain herself. "If you break the bed, we can always move the mattress to the floor."

Cullen twisted around and guided Lana to sit in between his legs. As she leaned her head back against his chest, he wrapped his hands around her stomach, guarding her from any errant embers out of the fireplace. A contented sigh rumbled in his chest and he placed his chin atop her head. Her fingers softly traced the stitching along his shirt's arm. After a moment, his voice rumbled, "I wasn't certain if the Winter Palace was, if there'd be a repeat of...to presume. It'd only been a few days since our return."

"Yes, I wanted to, attempted to...have you ever tried to duck Hawke? The woman is a blighted blood hound in armor. She found me when I was on the roof of Leliana's rookery. How? I have no idea. No one could have seen me from any vantage point, but Hawke knew."

Dipping his head down, he pressed his lips against her throat and spoke, "While I'm not ecstatic about her interference, I'm glad to know she's looking out for you." Lana was glad too. After so much of her life spent as the one people looked to, it was nice to have a person she thought of as an equal. An infuriating equal certainly, but a friend instead of a subservient. Cullen's lips paused in their gentle kisses as his hands pressed tighter against her stomach. She felt his body stiffen behind her as he shifted away, something rising in his mind.

"There's, I should have asked before if you, um...that is. Maker, why is this so difficult?" Lana waited, her fingers running up and down his arm. Taking a few more breaths, Cullen dove into what he needed to ask, "When I, uh, with you, did...do you need any, um, help?"

"Help with...?" Lana shook her head, far beyond lost.

"Not giving a, carrying a, birth?" he spat the incoherent words out quickly, then buried his face in her shoulders.

"Oh," she tried to not chuckle at his obvious discomfort. "No, I...it's of no mind."

"I know of the, uh, potion and the other spells..."

"You do?" She turned in his arms to catch his eye.

He glanced up at the ceiling, his adam's apple bobbing as he steadied himself, a beautiful blush warming his cheeks. "The Tranquil would often brew and sell it. I'm fairly certain that was a greater source of income for the circles than any healing draughts at the rate it kept... that doesn't matter to this. If you needed access to...I could arrange a-"

Lana cut him off by brushing the back of her hand against his cheek, "It's okay, Cullen. It's not an issue. Grey Wardens we're...um, we're sterile." She didn't mean it to sound like a confession, but she winced at the word. It shouldn't hurt her. She'd accepted it long ago, found a comfort in knowing that no matter how bad her life could get at least she'd never drag another innocent into it, and yet...that was the reason she'd had her heart broken the first time.

"Oh," Cullen became inscrutable for a moment as he digested what she was telling him. No children, no family, not the possibility of a future. That's all she could promise him; no real promise at all. After a breath, he squeezed tighter to her, his arms forming a blockade around her midsection. "Well, that saves on potions."

That drew a laugh from Lana and lifted a weight from her heart. It shouldn't matter, would never matter, but maybe he deserved to know. Or maybe she just wanted to tell someone and not have him run out the door. Not that he could at the moment. Trapped together by the storm seemed the most inopportune time for confessions, and yet. "Cullen, I...have my own rather prickly question that's been on my mind for awhile. To ask. When, um, we were together in the deep roads, that wasn't your first time, right?"

"Ah," he buried his chin into the back of her neck, "No, it was not."

"Good," she sighed. It hadn't struck her until she was long out of Kirkwall that the duty bound templar might have been even more inexperienced than she'd previously assumed. "I mean, I didn't want to with you and then to leave. It would have been...I didn't want to make it worse."

His lips pressed against her nape for a brief moment before breaking off. "What of you?" he asked, "it only seems fair."

"No, I had been with someone before that," Lana's voice drifted away, the end of her sentence falling to a whisper.

Cullen's fingers danced up and down her stomach meandering close to her wound but never touching it. Gathering his thoughts, he gripped tighter to her while confessing, "I was seventeen, nearly eighteen, and about to become a full templar, which meant transferring away from the training grounds in Denerim to the Circle."

"And there was a girl," Lana spoke for him, smiling from the familiar tale.

"She was fascinated with me, but I...I mean, I liked her well enough and," Cullen's words dropped to the ground and he buried his face in her shoulder. She felt his shame burning up through her own skin. "I didn't love her, I wished I had."

"You were young," Lana tried to soothe him.

"I've always feared I used her to try and confer a sense of adulthood before moving on to being a full knight. It..."

Now she spun fully in his lap and perched upon her knees, her arms knotting around her neck. Cullen's head hung low, his chin dipping into his chest. How did she keep falling for these types? How did they even exist anymore? Cupping her fingers along his jaw, Lana pulled his eyes to hers. "And now she can brag to everyone that she was with the Commander of the Inquisition. For all you know, she used you." She ruffled up his scruff, her finger darting along the scar above his lip. Cullen scoffed at first, but then he turned in her grasp and pressed a kiss against her palm.

Blinking from their strange confessions, he asked, "Did you love your first?"

Lana tried to not rear back, to keep her face neutral. She wanted to lie, a lie would make him feel better, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Yes."

"That's good."

"I don't know. It hurts more," she drifted off her knees and twisted back around to face the fire. Cullen's arms lay slack upon his thighs until she grabbed both and wrapped them around her like a cloak. Talking about him, thinking about him was the absolute last thing Lana wanted to do, especially with Cullen. It should have stayed in the past where it belonged.

"Well," Cullen broke their awkward silence, "that about covers every subject one never wants to discuss."

"Give me time, I'm certain I can insert my foot deeper into my mouth," Lana chuckled, but the mirth was forced. She sat up higher, her back against Cullen's chest, but her head drifted away from him.

"I doubt you can out maneuver me in that matter," he whispered to the air. "Josephine's all but chased me from the throne room whenever people with more than two titles in front of their name are visiting."

She could see the ambassador waving a broom trying to shoo the commander after he accidentally insulted some Bann or Viscount. Or maybe Josephine just lifted an eyebrow, pointed with her quill, and a dozen shadowed diplomats would fall from the ceiling to drag him away. "Oh, that's nothing," Lana spoke up. "When I first became Arlessa of Amaranthine, I had a party sprung upon me. Everyone was supposed to swear fealty and it was super important I guess, but I walked off before they finished. There was no precedent so they had to go back over it all again."

"I called a Duke a shrill, pompous windbag to his face."

"Which Duke?"

Cullen shrugged. "Does it matter?" which earned him an even greater laugh as she twisted in his grasp to face him. Laying her head upon his chest, Lana hugged her arms around his back, pulling herself closer.

Her fingers danced against his tunic, wishing she could feel the bare skin below instead. "How did we wind up in the echelons of nobility?"

Cullen pulled back the hair off her neck and caressed her cheek, his fingers trailing down her skin towards her birthmark. "A joke of the Maker, I assume," he whispered to her. "Why should life ever be easy for me?"

"Or me..." she sighed. In her marrow, Lana knew she shouldn't complain. For the Maker's sake, she was alive counter to every horror thedas could conjure. She'd survived countless battles, fights where people with better training didn't come out the other side. And yet, maybe she'd be a better person if none of it had ever happened. If she didn't have the scars on her skin or across her mind.

Strong hands held onto her marked shoulders. Was he thinking the same, feeling the same? Atonement could only get a person so far when the person still castigating you was yourself. Cullen pulled her tighter to him, his chin knocking against her forehead as he whispered, "How are you here? I don't, I never deserved..."

"Shh..." Lana's finger pressed against his lips and he tipped back, his amber eyes turning down towards her. She shifted her finger to the left lining it up with his scar. "We have until the end of an entire storm to be alone before...all of that comes back." Lana gestured out towards Skyhold, Orlais and Ferelden, all of thedas itself. Every person needing another piece of them, chipping it away until nothing remained. But right now she could have him all to herself; no duty, no threats of imminent death from darkspawn, no clowns.

Cullen caught her change in demeanor, his fingers sliding off her shoulders as Lana wrapped her hands around his neck so she could stretch her back above him. Catching his lips in a deep kiss, a heat rolled through her body that had nothing to do with magic. When she came up for air, she whispered in his ear, "I think we've wasted enough time."

His eyes hunted across hers, curiosity and lust burning in them. Lana stretched herself higher, her fingers digging through his hair as she kept up the assault on his lips. "Um..." Cullen broke away for a moment to glance at the minor fire roaring in the hearth. "Is it going to be...?"

She bit down on a grumble at herself and carefully pulled back on the flames until only a few embers lit up the room. Soft shadows flickered across his face, smoothing away the worry wrinkles beside his eyes and along his brow. "Better?" she asked, unable to hide her small shame. She hadn't meant to lose it before, didn't want to, certainly not with a templar in the room. It was dangerous to... Lana gritted at that thread in her brain. He wasn't a templar anymore, she had to remember that.

Fingers curled around the small of her back and glided below her shirt. Lana's eyes slipped shut as Cullen kneaded against her muscles, his own lips pressing up and down her neck. Forget all that doubt, just be here in this moment. Maker only knows how many more there will be. The fingers slipped around to her stomach and reached up to cup her breasts. Lana moaned, her hands flying out to grasp onto his shoulders. The motion caused her eyes to flutter open and she beamed into an amused grin upon his face.

"Weren't expecting that?" he asked while his hands slowly circled around her chest as if wanting to massage away the sore muscle there as well.

"I think it's my turn now," Lana yanked at the collar of his shirt and tried to pull it up. Accepting defeat, Cullen guided his hands out from under her clothes and lifted them in the air. With less grace than she'd like, Lana yanked his tunic off and tossed it towards the rest of his armor. His skin was even warmer than she remembered as she drew her fingers down the knot of his shoulders, across his chest and right towards his belt.

"Ah..." Cullen caught her fingers and picked them up to place upon his shoulders. Lifting the hem of her shirt an inch he shrugged, "It is only fair."

Lana smiled and dutifully lifted her arms over her head. She expected him to yank it off, but the man curled down and planted a kiss upon her stomach. He raised the tunic another couple inches and kissed above his last spot, then higher still, pressing his lips against her sternum. Ignoring the obvious distractions on either side of her cleavage, his mouth rose up her sternum until he found her birthmark.

"I might have known," she snickered. While removing her shirt, Cullen lost himself across her collar, his hands smoothing back the skin of her waist while his lips plied her birthmark. "Maker's breath," she shifted in his grasp, her lower half begging for more attention.

Taking her hands off his shoulders, Lana grabbed onto the belt again. While she tugged on the loop, his hands rolled over her breasts, the fingers teasing out her nipples and making it very hard for her to remember how the blasted buckles worked.

"Troubles?" he whispered to her neck.

"You are no help," she joked, when the belt finally gave way. Lana whipped it out of its loops with such passion, Cullen's exploring fingers paused.

As she tossed it aside, his honey eyes met her, "Should it concern me how well you wielded that?"

Re-shifting her weight, Lana smiled down at him, "Depends on what you want me to do with it." Now her fingers were free to slide down his naked stomach and slip underneath his trousers. He tried to meet her delighted eyes but when she circled around the head of his cock almost peeking out of the top, Cullen tossed his head back.

"Wait, wait..." he called, her fingers slipping away. Cullen kissed her on the lips as he slid out from under her. Rising to his feet, he stepped towards the bed. Lana propped herself up on her hip curious to see what he was up to, and also enjoying the full salute in his trousers. He grabbed onto the fur on the mattress and yanked it off. Returning to Lana's side, Cullen draped it against the stone floor.

"So we don't damage the bed," he explained, still standing above her.

Lana eyed the blanket, then turned back up at him and a grin cracked her cheeks, "A bear skin rug, in front of a fireplace? Maker, no one is ever going to believe me." A delightful blush crept up Cullen's cheeks as he realized the cheesiness of his suggestion, but Lana slipped over onto the blanket. With her arms leveraged behind her, she planted her feet in the fur and waved her knees back and forth waiting for him. "Well? This is your plan."

Cullen steadied his breath gazing down at her, "I suppose it is." A soft smile lit up his face as he fell to his knees. Without any fuss, he slipped off her trousers and got her smallclothes in one quick grab. The coarse and thick bear fur brushed up against Lana's ass and then her back as Cullen dipped her down to the floor. Leaning down on a knee, he reached a leg over to straddle her.

He drew a few more kisses from her before she pulled a leg forward and snagged her toes on his pants. "How come you're still wearing these?" she complained, trying to tug them off with the power of her feet.

"Because," he kissed her lips then began to slide down. "This is my plan." Each word was followed by a kiss moving slowly down her body. The 'plan' ended just before her pubic hair. Cullen rested his head upon her body and his hungry eyes gazed up at her.

Lana squirmed, suspecting she knew what his plan was, "You don't have to, if you don't want to. It's not..."

Fingers massaged into her sides, careful to follow the swoop of her hips, "I've dreamt of it for a rather long time."

Trying to not squeak in terrifying anticipation, Lana bit down on her tongue. She spread her knees further apart, giving Cullen ample room to slip down and come face to face with the rest of her. Concerns nibbled through her mind, but they obliterated to dust when his tongue slowly slurped along her inner lips. Sweet merciful Maker! His tongue danced back and forth across every inch of her, lapping her up for dessert. Slipping his hands underneath her butt, Cullen lifted her higher to meet him as he increased the speed of his licking. Gentle gave way to a tenacity that vibrated up from her core down her legs. The back of her throat fell slack, all the pleasure shooting through her body numbing her brain.

Spurred on by her heavy breathing, Cullen slipped a couple fingers inside of her while his lips sucked upon her clitoris, bringing the shy bit out for attention. Stroking forward with his fingers, he switched between soft sucking and furious licking. Lana felt the concept of time, magic, even her name all slip from her brain as the growing throb pulsing inside of her crowded them all away. Suddenly, Cullen paused, his tongue silencing, his fingers falling slack. Lana bared down upon him, both a whimper and growl in her voice. He only waited another second, but to her it felt an eternity, before sucking one last time upon her. It tipped her off that endless cliff, every inch of her body shaking as the orgasm unleashed upon her. Lana arced her back, digging her head deeper into the rug while the last of her pulsed around his fingers. Her legs involuntarily shot up in the air, knotting around his head. She could feel him chuckling from between her thighs.

"I take it that's a good sign?" Cullen asked.

Lana balled up her fists to try and summon back her mental presence, but it seemed to drift a few feet above her, as untouchable as the stars. Nodding, she struggled to sit up when his lips met hers. She could still taste herself upon him, which only pushed her deeper off the cliff. How could she get this wet and not die of dehydration?

"You, I, um," Lana tried to form a coherent thought, then laughed, shaking her head.

"Don't worry," he ran his fingers across her chest, then dipped down to gently graze her nipple. "You said we had all night."

He picked up her limp fingers and guided them to his trousers. Finally, she could yank them off him, though he made it tricky by remaining upon his knees above her. Once freed, Cullen dipped his hips down, his cock skimming across her stomach while he kept kissing her. Maker, the teasing was liable to kill her. She began to reach for him, when he caught her wrist and limply held it between his fingers. A fire burned in Lana's eyes and she threw her hands back over her head.

"Hold me down," she instructed. Cullen twisted his head, confused. She gestured to her wrists, "Pin my arms down while you're inside of me."

"Oh." His strong fingers gripped easily around her wrists, and he pressed them down into the ground. A primal ecstasy zapped through her body and she wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to pull him inside of her.

Cullen kissed her, his cock obstinately remaining a few inches away. He pressed more of his weight down on her wrists, causing her to writhe. Yanking his head to the side, Cullen gulped a breath. Lana blinked, trying to lift her head to see his. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course," he gritted his teeth and dove back for her lips, but there was a different urgency now. She couldn't name it but she felt it flowing through him, his body rigid. Cullen's fingers dug into her wrists and then his whole body shuddered. Not the good kind, but as if his own skin reviled him. "I..." he broke away from her lips, and gasped for more air, "I'm sorry. I can't..." His fingers released from her wrists and he struggled to his feet. Lana let him go, watching as he dashed to the corner and stared out the window slit, his naked back turned to her. Cold seeped into the room that had nothing to do with the dampened fire.

Maker, what did she do now? Lana sat up, and a rush of blood knocked against her head. She shook it off and struggled to her legs. He stood stock still in the corner, one hand digging into the masonry. Grit rained down off the bricks, the filth scattering into his hair. Muscles across his back tightened from an internal conflict she couldn't understand. Lana wanted to reach out to him, to soothe away the knots twisting around him, but she had no idea what was wrong, what she could have done to him.

"Cullen..." she began. He didn't shudder from her voice, but his head dropped lower.

"I shouldn't be, I..." he whispered into the corner, his voice shattered. He sounded like a man who'd fresh walked out of battle, his mind still stricken numb. "I'm sorry. I should be better, be more, but I don't want to..."

"You don't have to do anything," she assured him, trying to wipe away any hurt in her voice. But she must have not been successful as he spun away from his corner.

Red circled through his eyes, but there were no tears, only pain gnarling up his face. "Maker, no, it's not you. I... Why must I keep failing at this?" Cullen's head dropped down and he glared at her feet.

"Talk to me. Explain it, please," her hand glanced across his shoulder. She held her breath, scared of his response, but he leaned into her touch as if he needed it and she gripped tighter.

"I keep thinking I'm past it, beyond it, but when you..." he sucked back a wobble in his voice and tried again. "When you asked me to, when I held your arms tight I couldn't stop thinking of every other mage I'd helped capture, had to bind, or..."

Lana smacked her head and cursed herself for being so stupid, "Andraste's ass! This is all my fault. I shouldn't have put that on you. I should have thought..."

He shook his head, either not hearing her, or not wanting to hear her. "I've, the things I've done, they're... I don't want to do it to you. Ever." Twisting his head up from the ground, his eyes raged with an internal fire.

"I know," Lana's hand caressed his cheek, but he turned away from it.

"You don't. I don't want you to. How could you look at me if you..." his words faded as he gasped for a breath, his chest shaking from the effort. He whispered to the floor, "You were always more than a mage to me, but-"

"I've done things too. Things I'm not proud of. Things that haunt me at the most inopportune times," she pleaded with him, but he shook her off again. "Cullen, I shouldn't have asked it of you. Not then, not when... It was brash and stupid. I'm sorry."

"I try to forget sometimes, when I'm with you. Forget that...that-"

"That I'm a mage," she said, shrugging her shoulders. She expected it.

"No," Cullen shook his head, "that I was a templar. That I could have ever hurt you. That I'd even think of..."

Lana wrapped her arms around his hung head, pulling his face to her cheek. "You're not a templar now," she said, her fingers scurrying around his shoulders, trying to envelop him as far as her reach would allow.

"It will never leave me. The memories, the bare fact of what I did because I was to arrogant to face my own anger." She didn't know what to say so she stroked his cheek, laying his scruff flat against his face. "There's a void where that anger was, and I fear what may fill it."

"You're not the monster you make yourself out to be. You weren't even him before Kirkwall fell."

"Lana..." his slack arms slipped around her back and he pulled his head to her chest for a hug, "I needed you to be special. To be," he snickered, "the good mage. If you were incorruptible then maybe, maybe the others deserved a chance. But even then, even then I almost... Maker, forgive me."

"I asked you to kill me," Lana said, her own body beginning to shake. She tried to will away the tears stinging in her eyes, the memories of her failure with White tied to fear and shame in equal measure. "And you refused, you had enough faith in me, in mages to not strike me down."

She hoped for him to see common sense, but a new guilt radiated off him. His fingers dug into her skin as he clung to her for sanctuary, for clemency, "No, not then. I nearly killed you before that, for no other reason than you suffering a nightmare. I'm so sorry," he moaned, burying his head deeper into her chest.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, ruffling up the waves as she weighed her words carefully. Lana opened and closed her mouth a few times before she spoke, "I knew."

"You did?" Cullen stood up now, his tears streaked across his cheeks and down her breasts.

"I've spent most of my adult life expecting assassins in any corner. I spotted your hand on a dagger the second I woke. But," she shrugged, "I also thought you'd do the right thing and not cut me down."

"Maker's breath," he shook his head, his fists balled up tight against his. "Assassins? And you thought that I, you knew I'd, and still... Assassins?"

Lana shrugged. "You really think any Banns are going to be happy having a mage above them? Ordering them around? Deciding their laws and enacting justice? The assassins were how I knew I was doing a good job."

She played it off as light hearted until she caught Cullen's eyes as stripped bare as the rest of him. It wasn't pity in them but a depth of fear for her that she kept forgetting to have for herself. Lana swallowed and stumbled back, turning to face away from him. One of the many dams in her brain cracked and her iron will crumbled. Amaranthine was an experiment, one that she'd tried to survive at, tried to do right by, but... Crossing her hands, Lana gripped onto her arms as if she was frozen solid. "I tried, I tried so damn hard to be both Arlessa and Commander. Played the stupid political games, rendered verdicts I thought were fair to the Banns whether they helped me or not. And..."

Throwing out her fist, Lana watched ice spark across it - the frozen water building off each of her fingers until it merged into a point. "I'm...I'm cursed by magic, shunned by the Maker, a sin. They were never going to listen to me, no matter what I did. No matter what I sacrificed. I," she flared up her other fist with fire and melted away the ice spear, "I'm a failure before I even tried."

Hands drifted across her shoulders, at first only grazing against her naked flesh, then the fingers dug in. "Lana..." Cullen's broken voice whispered. A few noises fell from his lips as he tried to find the words. She shook off her fire and gripped onto his fingers while glaring at the snow still melting in the doorway. Her own sins beat against her heart, tearing down every failsafe she put up to keep herself going.

"I-I don't think you're cursed by the Maker," he said.

"You don't know what I've done," her voice was dead, all fight beaten out of it from her own brain.

"You don't know what I've done either," Cullen answered back.

"Amaranthine, I...I let it burn. It was overrun with darkspawn, the blight more virulent than normal. I thought the only hope was to return to the Vigil and take the enemy head on. But," she bit on her lip to stem the tears, a warble slipping into her voice, "returning back to the city I burned, walking through the streets. There was no amount of rebuilding, no coin, no digging in the rubble with my bare hands that could make up for what I did. For what I chose."

Cullen's fingers dug tighter into her, so tight he pinched at an old nerve. Instinctively, she tried to slip away from the pain, which caused him to moan. Lana turned around to find his head dangling as if someone cut the strings. He whispered softly, "I could have stopped the purge of the circle. Before the fighting broke out in the Gallows, I..." He swallowed, his hands hanging limply at his side, "I questioned Meredith, questioned her use of the Rite of Annulment, but I didn't stop her." His fractured eyes broke into hers as his lips breathlessly repeated, "I didn't stop her."

Lana wrapped her arms around him, pulling her head into his chest for a one sided hug. His own stricken arms continued to dangle, as if he couldn't stand the idea to touch her. "It wasn't your fault, it was mine."

"That's not possible," a raw anger drifted into his voice. "You weren't even in Kirkwall when it happened."

"I knew Anders was," she spat. "I never thought he'd...never imagined, but I could have gone for him. Could have drug him back to the Vigil for..." She pulled in a breath and started over, "I told you Nathaniel was the third person I recruited into the Wardens, Anders was the first. Even knowing him from the tower, knowing his proclivity to running at the first chance he had, I hoped, thought with an opportunity he'd-he'd become... Andraste's tears, I am an idiot."

Now Cullen's arms enveloped around her and he pulled her so tight the skin of his chest stuck against hers. There they stood, stark naked with their sins exposed to each other. The question was who would blink first. Who would realize that there was no excusing the choices, no looking past the insurmountable? "I knew of Anders existence, and I was in a better place to stop him than you," Cullen whispered to her shoulder.

"You must hate me," she said. "For all that alone, I..."

"Never," he twisted his head against her, "never."

"We've ignored this for too long, haven't we?" Her fingers dug even tighter to him, rising onto her tiptoes to press her head against his shoulder. "It'll always be there. The...past, the regrets. I-"

Cullen's throat constricted as he swallowed back his own tears, the sound pushing more grief from her. "I've been scared to tell you the truth, certain that you'd never be able to look at me again."

So had she. No one in all of thedas but her knew the full extent of her life, the measures she'd taken to stay alive, to protect those that needed it. No one in all of thedas could ever look at her again if they did, could ever love her. She was certain of it, it burned through her soul like a hot coal. But... Lana slipped back from her tight grip. He let his arms go slack, prepared to let her go forever, but she moved one arm up behind his neck while the other pushed back the curls clinging to his forehead.

"Ask me...ask me what you fear would make you stop caring for me and I'll tell you the truth."

His nostrils flared as he sucked in a steadying breath from her request. The amber eyes danced across her face then back to the floor. It took a few more moments before he opened his mouth. Even then no sound came save a squeak or two until he finally voiced a question, "Have you ever made a deal with a demon?"

"No," Lana shook her head. "Never." Relief blanketed his face, his taciturn lips lifting out of their deep frown. "Have you," Lana shifted on her toes, unable to watch him as she asked what she knew she had to, "taken a mage against their will?"

"Taken a mage?" Cullen repeated her words in confusion, then it dawned upon him what she meant. "No," he shook his head wildly, disgust curling his lip, "Never. That's abhorrent, I'd..."

"I know," she caressed his face, "I hoped anyway, but I had to ask."

His anger abated quickly and he hung his head, "I understand, given...I understand."

They stood like that, wrapped up in each other asking for the answers to their own deal breakers for what felt like hours, both terrified of the answer but needing to know. Needing to find that maybe they could come back from that cliff's edge. After a time, the questions turned a bit less serious. When Lana asked, "Have you ever stolen from the chantry collection?" the dour mood finally broke. Cullen snorted, then tossed his head back in a vehement no. "Really? Not even as a child?"

"I'd have feared the ground would split open and swallow me whole if I even entertained the thought," Cullen admitted. His eyes were still red, probably as red as hers, but a small smile lifted his cheeks. "What about you? Have you ever...taken candy from a baby?"

"Of course not," she chided, gently swatting at his naked chest at the absurdity. "Though," Lana paused in thought, "the qunari traveling with me did once steal cookies from a child."

"A qunari stole cookies?" Cullen twisted his head around, not believing a single word of it.

"It's true, he was mad about them. In fact, if you ever plan on forming an alliance with the Qun tell Josephine to send a batch. I think chocolate chip were his favorite," Lana remembered back to that giant grey man who questioned if she was a woman but swore a loyalty to her so severe she thought it could only be matched by the mabari. A chuckle rumbled up her stomach from the sight of Sten, stone faced, draped in that pink and yellow sweater Wynne knitted for him. She even took the time to add little decorative swords around the middle. No one said a word about the pompoms.

Out of nowhere, a chill crept along the stones and without a crushing depression to damper every sense in her body, she realized they were both naked while a winter storm raged outside. Cullen caught her shivering. Breaking away from his hug, he leaned down and yanked up the fur blanket. Tossing it around her shoulders, she snuggled into it, then pressed deeper into him.

"We should probably get some sleep," he said staring at the rickety bed. Despite it being his idea, she saw regret stinging in his eyes.

Lana reached down to catch his fingers. Threading hers through his, her thumb rubbed the back of his hand. That brought a small smile back to him. "Don't worry, there's always tomorrow."

"For?"

A sly smile twisted up her cheeks, "For me to even the odds. You're not the only one who's dreamed of me taking you in my mouth." While Cullen's cheeks turned bright red, Lana dragged him to the bed for sleep. For now.


	16. Chapter 16

"Lana..." She snuggled deeper into the enticing warmth enveloping her body. Light tried to pry open her eyelids but she wasn't having any of it. "Lana..." the voice tried again. Pressure landed somewhere near her hip, but it was cushioned by-

Oh no.

She rolled one eye open, then the other, and glanced up to a not quite amused but not quite peeved Cullen. His hands were wrapped around his naked chest to try and combat the cold seeping into the room. The fire died long ago with no more wood and no mage to stoke it. She tried to reach an arm out to him, but found they were both pinned to her side from the blanket she ensconced herself in over the night. Only her head and a sliver of her shoulders poked free from the fur wrapped around her. "Damn," she whispered and began the excruciating task of twisting her body around the bed to try and free herself from her personal Lana roll.

Cullen grabbed onto the edge, helping to yank sections of the blanket away from her as she rolled. "In listing your sins, you somehow forgot to mention you are a blanket thief," he chuckled.

"Notorious, I'm afraid," she admitted. Her rolling put her on top of the last of the blanket, which Cullen extracted out from under her legs. "Hawke learned to grip onto the edge with a hand. I doubt ogres could pry it free from her, though I've certainly tried." He laid one edge atop his own body, then despite her evil banditry, pushed the rest over her. Cullen slid closer to her, his hands gripping onto her side while his feet, his frozen feet, knotted against her calf.

"Maker's breath!" Lana yelped as the rest of his cold body suckered onto her, "You're freezing."

"That," he smiled, burying his head into her shoulder, "would be your doing."

"I'm sorry," she tried to roll to the side to apologize again, but Cullen clung tighter to her, his head drifting down her chest.

"Well," his lips pressed against her skin with a few kisses, until a cheeky smile lifted them away, "you'll have to make it up to me."

Now her own lips rose in an ornery grin. "Is that so?" She flipped over fast, her knee almost colliding with Cullen's nose. But Lana caught the edge of the creaking bed and pinned him beneath her. Lifting the blanket, she tented it around her shoulders and stared down at him. Most of the morning's light was blocked by her amateur fort, but she could watch his golden eyes - hazy still with sleep - begin to burn. His own hands curled up her hips, his calloused pads kneading against her waist. A tickle bloomed through her skin and she couldn't bite down an undignified snort escaping as a laugh.

"I love that," he sighed, his fingers trying to draw out another one from her. "When you lose all pretense, all control, you give this small noise from your nose. It's a bit like a pig rutting for dinner."

"I do not," she cried indignant, and gently swiped at his chest. "Heroes do not make pig noises!" Her lips twisted across her face as she tried to keep back the smile. This was serious, very serious.

"Very well," Cullen gave in to her soft pawing across his pecs. "Heroes may not make rutting noises, but..." He sat up and locked his arms around her back, tugging her down to the bed. That same cursed grunt escaped from her lips along with a shocked laugh as she crashed on top of him. It had to hurt taking all her weight, but Cullen only trailed his lips across her nose and down to her lips. Her hands were trapped between their chests, but she gave in to his pull, her body practically melting in his grip.

Coming up for air, he smiled at her and finished his thought, "But I know one beautiful mage with a deadly fire in her belly who does."

"I should argue with you," she shook her head. It didn't take much of their rolling around to catch all of his body's attention, the staff rising higher as his hands drifted down her back and caressed across her backside.

"But you won't, because you know it's true," he smirked, planting a few more kisses on her, "All of it."

"Maker's breath, I thought you were the serious one," she laughed.

A hungry growl reverberated from his gut, the primal need driving her own lust wide awake. His eyes glittered in the light as his fingers drifted lower, squeezing each of her cheeks. "I am."

Lana kissed him with enough fervor to relight the fireplace, her body squirming on top of his. She managed to wiggle one hand out of the trap and run her fingers up and down the side of his chest. Slipping into the divot between each of his ribs caused Cullen to sigh in the back of his throat. But what she really wanted was to...

Cracking broke from outside the door. Lana's tongue paused and she lifted her head up. If she shut her eyes she could almost hear what sounded like a voice on the wind whispering beyond the snow trap. Then, at the same time, both mage and templar tasted the mana dumped into the world. She didn't know if Cullen could spot it, but she smelled the tell tale ember of fire cast from the fade. "It seems we've been rescued," she sighed, not rising off him.

"Perhaps they're clearing the last of the snow off and will pass on by," he threw out hopeful. He wrapped his arms tight around her back, holding her deeper into the bed as they both held a breath. Maybe if they were lucky, they'd still have a chance to...

A fist knocked against the door, "Hello? Lana?"

Shit, it was Leliana. Now Lana leaped off Cullen, leaving the poor naked man exposed, but he looked as stricken as her while both searched for wherever they left their clothing. Leliana continued, her voice cheery, "We recieved a report that you were locked in here during the storm. Are you awake? The door appears to be jammed."

"What should..." Cullen began but Lana shot him a warning look. She knew Leliana had ears that could hear through stone walls.

"Ah, I'm in here, but...give me a minute," Lana scooped up the first pair of trousers she found, knotted the drawstring, and wiggled into her tunic. With her foot, she shoved the rest of the shed clothing behind the bed away from the view of the Spymaster. Cullen stood frozen, still naked and uncertain what to do. Lana waved him to flatten against the wall, if she only opened the door an inch or two Leliana wouldn't see him. It was her best hope short of stuffing him up the chimney. He grabbed onto the blanket and wrapped it around his hips, then shrunk beside the wall.

Lana tried to lift the latch from the inside, but it wouldn't budge. Then she spotted the lock that must have fallen into place. Willing down the flush along her cheeks and the guilt etched into her eyes, Lana threw back the door. Bright blue skies greeted her, any sign of the storm's rage long obliterated. Leliana's red hair flamed in the late morning light.

"Sorry about that," Lana said, "the lock must have slid into place and...thank you for finding me."

"For Andraste's sake, how did you wind up trapped in here?" her friend smiled wide, her eyes only able to see Lana through the slit of the door. This might actually work.

"I was moving along the battlements, helping to thaw rooms when snow fell off the roof. I'd have been buried if I hadn't have ducked into this room," Lana smiled widely, her body nonchalant, then her eyes wandered behind her where two pairs of boots leaned into each other. Shit!

"Good timing. You keep ahold of that old luck after all," Leliana smiled at her, her fingers pressing into the door.

Lana held it tight and slipped her foot behind it, "What was the damage?"

"Minimal, thankfully. A few torn roofs, some lost chickens. And we've most of everyone accounted for..." Leliana's words faded away as she rose up on her feet. No matter how tall Lana tried to stand, she couldn't block the Spymaster's view. The woman trained in the art of the game was now looking over the disheveled room that held an unexplainable sword and scabbard, as well as a breastplate tossed near the hearth. Her easy smile slipped away and Leliana pushed on the door. Lana slid her foot away, but still tried to halt the Spymaster's steps inside.

"That's good, to not lose anyone and..." Her head collapsed as Leliana paused in the room and eyed up Cullen struggling to rise as dignified as possible while wearing a tattered bear fur knotted around his waist.

"Commander," Leliana's voice was unreadable.

"Spymaster," he said back, his words steady but a blush charred up his chest. His naked chest. This was not going to go well.

"I see we don't need to bother tracking you down then. That is good," Leliana said. Her cold eyes hunted across the room, drawing her own quick conclusions of what happened during the storm. When she turned back to Lana, she only shut her eyes and softly rolled them. "When you are...when you've finished in here, we have a few matters to discuss prior to your mission."

"Uh, right, of course," Lana pawed at her forehead, either trying to knock her hair out of the way or pull it forward to obscure her face.

"Good morning, Commander," Leliana called, swooping out of the room.

He banged the back of his head against the stone wall, but still managed a somewhat cheery, "Morning."

Lana chased after Leliana, "I, this is, I know what it looks like, but there's a..."

For only a second Leliana's crystal face cracked and a whisper of a smile curled up her lips. But by the time Lana blinked it was gone. "It doesn't require much thought to discern what that was. I will be in my rookery when you wish to talk," And Leliana turned away from the door, her porcelain fingers lifting her hood back up. "By the way, you're wearing his trousers."

Lana glanced down at her legs and cursed with every expletive she knew.

* * *

When she threw back the door to her room, Lana didn't expect to find Hawke sitting in the chair with a book in her lap. It wasn't that her cousin wasn't the reading type, she simply required numerous breaks in between pages. Breaks that tended to involve breaking things. And her only time spent indoors was when sleeping or during deluges. Even average storms couldn't keep Hawke back, they had to be reaching near on hurricane status. She'd watched Hawke race around in rain, the water drenching her clothes flat, just to work off her energy.

"Hey, you're back!" Hawke shouted. She closed the book without bothering to mark it and tossed it on the pile.

Lana grumbled something noncommittal and slammed the door shut behind her. Her visit to the rookery went not as badly as she feared - at first. Sure, every inch of her skin was burning with a shame she shouldn't suffer anymore. For the Maker's sake, it's not as if she's some 18 year old caught sneaking off with a... But that was what she did. She slipped away with a templar, ex-templar. Regardless, the man in charge of an entire army. Lana was certain she'd hear the never-ending spiel about how dangerous it was to distract him, to risk the certainty of the army for her own selfish wants.

But Leliana continued to surprise her. After giving her the formal report on the Western Approach, and introducing Lana to a few of the Nightingale's most respected spies, Leliana made no mention or drew no attention to what she discovered. On occasion she'd pause, glance over to make certain Lana managed to dress in her own clothing, then continued with her speech. It wasn't until she dismissed her people, when Lana was about to slip out the door that Leliana glanced up from her table.

"You and the Commander..." she began. Lana sighed, steam almost hissing from her nose. How could she think she'd get out of this without a proper denouncement?

"What of it?"

Leliana tossed back her hood, and for a moment all the spying, the dark shadows and night games, all her work as the Left Hand vanished. She was the little, red-headed Sister Lana tripped across in a tavern in Lothering, before she tripped over people trying to kill her. "Are you certain that this is wise?"

"I know that stopping Corypheus is important, the most important factor here, and the army-"

Leliana waved her hand, cutting her off, "The commander is more than capable to handle his soldiers, as he's proven. A few...distractions are unlikely to throw him off." Now she stood up, her pale hands grabbing onto Lana's slack ones, "My concern is only for you. He is, was a templar."

"I am aware of that."

"He was in Kirkwall."

"I'm aware of that as well," she clenched her shoulder blades back as if standing in formation. Opposition was a certainty in her life, even if it was her private life, but why could no one wrap their mind around a mage and a templar?

"And..." Leliana tenderly bit her bottom lip with just the tips of her teeth, preparing her for what she had to say next, "he bears a striking resemblance to Alistair."

"Of, for all the-" Lana slipped her hands out of Leliana's grasp. "No, that isn't why, it's not...you're leaping to conclusions."

"I've noticed you tend to avoid invoking the King of Ferelden's name. Last I heard you two were friends, even good friends at times. But something has obviously changed."

"That's because...It has nothing to do with-" she balled her fingers into a fist and slammed it against the table. Some of Leliana's scrolls shook from the force, but nothing dared to fall off. "What happened with Alistair is unrelated. It is, he is of no consequence to me anymore." She felt Leliana peering at her, wanting to say what Lana knew. If Alistair was in her past then why did she wince when she said his name. Why did he still have a power over her?

But that cold, watchful Leliana wasn't the only face remaining. She wrapped a friendly arm around Lana's shoulders, "If you say so, then I believe you. I just, I don't want you to get hurt again."

"I know," Lana patted her hand, "I don't want to either, if it's all the same."

"Then you intend to continue forward?"

Lana snickered, "If there is a forward. What's forward? Everything in the world's all...I have no idea. But don't worry about me. I'm better at guarding my heart." She gave a weak smile to re-enforce her lie. Leliana sighed, but allowed her to get away with it. "If that was it, I should get back to my room and pack..." Lana began, gesturing down the stairs. Her friend tipped her head, releasing her. Their work was always the more pressing matter.

Lana slipped down towards the library where she spotted a tuft of Dorian's hair bobbing around. Maker only knew who he was talking to, or why he was so animated, but a small fear gripped her. She turned to Leliana and asked, "By the...if, could you keep it secret? Things are complicated enough with my being here and with him as the-"

A smile twisted up her lips, "Lanny, I happen to be very good at maintaining secrets."

Hawke threw a stack of her books at the table, snapping Lana out of her reverie. "We heading out then?"

"Ah, yes, to the Western Approach. We won't be traveling with the Inquisitor, so it's just you and me."

"Perfect!" Hawke grinned wide, "Though I'm gonna miss Varric. Eh, he can catch me up on the wheelings and dealings in the Inquisitor's camp."

"Sometimes I wonder how you two aren't controlling half of thedas," Lana muttered. She unearthed her pack from under the bed and rifled through the scattered contents. Her bag of herbs crunched dishearteningly in her grasp. There'd have to be a stop by the herbalist before setting out for certain.

"Easy, I don't want to and Varric's too busy. But look out if anyone ever did get him onto a throne." Hawke shuddered, then waved at the air, "Nah, he'd be too miserable to even try. All right, what's got you in grumping frowny face mode today?"

"Nothing," Lana frowned, then she tried to tip it up to a smile.

"I thought after you and a certain dashing templar worked out a few kinks behind that snow you'd be skipping around here."

Lana's head snapped up at her lackadaisical cousin. "Tem...snow? You knew?!"

"What? About you and Cullen? Was I not supposed to?" Hawke's eyes glanced about the room, trying to see if she was being set up for some prank. "I mean, get you two in a room together and it's a wonder it doesn't catch on fire. Ignoring the fact you're a mage and could do it anyway, but you know what I'm driving at."

"I..." Lana whipped her head back and forth trying to breathe in some sense. She didn't want her private affairs dragged into light, not if, not when so much was still uncertain. But Leliana now knew, and Hawke apparently always knew. Who else smugly sat in the knowledge of her cursed heart?

"It was kinda obvious you go all curly toes around him. And Cullen, shit he was waxing rhombus about you years ago back in the Gallows."

"He..." Lana shook her head, "He was?"

"Yeah, it was, um..." Hawke tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling while counting on her fingers, "five years ago, something like that. Before I got this snazzy title. Talked about an amazing Amell mage he knew. Didn't take a sharp mind to figure out he meant you. You'd expect rainbows to fall from his lips he was so far gone."

"Five years, but that would have been..." before she went to him. Before she recruited him to take down White. Andraste's tears, Lana, what are you playing at? How did you not realize that he was...? She shook away the thought. This wasn't the time to worry, to twist her mind up with questions of the past. They were finally heading out to find the wardens, to find the remnants of her wardens. That was her life, whether she liked it or not.

Hawke took Lana's sudden silence in stride, "When I saw you two slip behind the snow I figured you needed some freedom to work out all the tension. If ya catch my meaning. In the morning, I told the Spymaster where you were so she could get mages to dig you out. Then I had the most Maker-awful blood sausage for breakfast. I think it was made out of darkspawn blood it was that bad."

"You...thank you," Lana said, her heart lightened by Hawke's thought, perhaps less her deed. "Though we...worked out that tension at the Winter Palace."

"Did ya now?" Hawke's grin spread wide, "Hope you left the wet spot on the Duchess' sheets."

"It, uh," Lana massaged her neck, then grabbed her pack and swung it into place. She slotted her staff blade into the pocket on her back and picked up her staff. "We should head out to see what the wardens are up to."

"Right!" Hawke slapped her knee and rose up, the woman always ready at a moment's notice to leap to attention whether for a city or just a friend. "Let's go be big damn heroes!"


	17. Chapter 17

Blood splattered across her robes, clots clumping up her hair, the sand buffeting through crimson puddles and coagulating into a sticky mass on the stones. Scarlett dripped down the ruins, rivulets meandering through the carvings into the floors from numerous throats sliced open - the bodies left in a heap on the side. He cared nothing for their sacrifice, but the wardens should have. They should have... There was so much blood, too much. Lana's fists strangled her staff, wringing her fingers against the wood while she glared at the form limping away in the distance. Every inch of her body screamed for her to give chase, to rip apart the veil itself and drag him back to the void from where he slithered out. The dark part of her, the one she only tapped into when there was no other choice, demanded she make it slow. The rest of her agreed with it.

Hawke clapped a hand upon her shoulder. Normally, Lana would have bowed from the force, but her body was rigid and unbending. Her eyes hunted across the wardens, all dead, all bound to a demon by something far worse stalking their lands. She knew anger, she'd often butted heads with it in the personified form from the fade. This wasn't anger stirring inside of her, it ran deeper through her marrow than anger could ever reach. They were going to pay for this blood.

"Where do you think he's going?" Hawke asked. She yanked her greatsword out of the impaled spine of a warden and inspected it. "Damn blood mages. Even when you think it's not blood mages, it's always them bastards."

"Adamant," Lana watched the sands blanketing the sky from Erimond's wake. She flipped around and honed in on the Inquisitor, "He's heading to Adamant, an ancient Grey Warden fortress."

The Inquisitor was ragged, the mage's blood slicking back his hair as he rotated his daggers in bruised wrists. He panted beside a broken statue while Dorian tried to will a slip of energy into him. For a brief moment, the elf accepted his help but then he rose away, trying to force on the command role. "What are the Grey Wardens thinking? Binding themselves to demons? Sacrificing their own?"

Lana felt every eye in the party land upon her, even Hawke's, but she didn't care what they thought of her, of wardens. She needed to kill Erimond. She was going to kill him. "Hawke and I can scout out Adamant. Make certain that's where he's headed."

"We can?" her cousin asked, batting at the back of her head. Lana glowered at her, and - for the first time since they met - Hawke gulped from the mage's power, "I mean we can, of course."

The Inquisitor looked about to argue, but even he bowed his head, acquiescing to the vengeance inside of her. Lana flexed her fingers once more, drawing as much energy as she dared back into her limbs. The blood remained untouched, drying to a sickening brown in the desert sun. She was many things, but she'd never become a malifecarum, never become one of them. "Come on," she said, slapping her hand against Hawke's armor. "Let's go."

"Ah, Warden," the Inquisitor spoke softly, still gulping in air from the fight or perhaps from Erimond knotting up his anchor. "Did you know any of the people here?"

Lana's strides stumbled and she turned back to the bodies both mutilated from their weapons, as well as the ones drained to feed the demons. They were too young for this; too young to have death dangled above their heads, death whispered in their ears, and the only hope given to free them was a suicide run to save the world.

"Yes," she admitted, noting the ones she'd cursed to this life. Without elaborating, she swept up Hawke, slid down the backside of the ritual tower, and raced after Erimond. His tracks were easy to follow, even for the warrior and mage stumbling through the ankle deep sand. The man didn't care that they were following, he thought he was stronger than they were, believed himself untouchable. She'd prove him wrong. Lana stalked across the dunes, her jaw screwed tight, the burn of the sun not reaching her frozen heart. Yes, she'd known some of the people split open like a water skin, their life's juices poured across the ground. She'd been the one to recruit them, the one to put the Calling in their head, the reason they were manipulated into destroying their own. And he'd murdered them all for his own master's glory. Visions of how she'd slit Erimond from nape to navel kept her focused as sand poured into her boots trying to drag her down into the earth with it.

"Hey, I..." Hawke shouted from behind her, "I know we need to scout this place out but maybe we should stop."

"No," Lana answered, her lips barely opening through her rigid jaw. "I'm going to kill Erimond."

"Okay, that's good. Killing blood mages, I can get behind that. It's just, how do you think we're gonna catch him? He's on a horse. Maybe we should swing back and get one," Hawke continued. Her massive form, while graceful on the battlefield, was a clogging mess in the dunes. She had to lift her legs twice as high to overcome the pull of sand.

"There isn't time," Lana hissed, "I won't give up his trail." Without looking back, she pushed some of her own fade energy into her cousin. The veil bit back upon her fingers, unhappy with this abuse, but she didn't feel it. An insurmountable cold radiated out of her heart leaving her skin dead and her thoughts crisp, fear would find no hold inside of her nor would compassion. She knew what she would do with a crystal clarity that shoved aside any possibility of doubt.

Revived from the magic, Hawke fell silent again, the two of them making it miles further through the dunes with Lana leading like a hound on the chase. Unlike some poor wyvern driven to extremes by bored nobility, her prey deserved to be put down without any concern for his suffering. The sun shifted across the sky, the shadows lengthening as it prepared for a descent. She didn't relish walking through the desert at night, but there was no other option.

"So," Hawke suddenly started up, her voice closer than Lana remembered. She snapped her head, willing away the fog that blanketed her mind. Somehow she missed the past few hours. "That thing Erimond said, about the other Grey Wardens being scared of you..."

Lana blanched. It was true, it was why she never mixed much with them. The younger ones, the ones who didn't know why a warden was needed to end a blight, loved her. They loved the hero thrust upon the world stage to remind thedas of the importance of wardens. They didn't watch her with slit eyes waiting to see if an archdemon would suddenly erupt out of her skin. Ten years counting and still no return of the blight. "What of it?"

"Well, I was wondering about the other part. The bit about his master having a great interest in you," Hawke continued.

"He's collecting warden mages for his army. I'm a warden mage," Lana said without explaining. She suspected what Corypheus would want with her, but had no idea why he hadn't done it.

"Right, right, and we're heading to the heart of all the wardens who are scared of you and the man who wants you stuffed in his trophy room. Doesn't that seem rather...how can I put this nicely? Stupid? Idiotic? Death Sentency?"

Lana flared her fingers up and cast a scrap of light into the sky. It trailed through the cotton pink air until landing a few hundred feet upon the darkening dunes to highlight Erimond's shifting wake. She trudged for it, her eyes upon the light. "We're not giving up now. I have a plan."

"Oh, that's good, a plan. Here I was concerned about just the two of us invading some fortress armed with only a stick and a sword. But if there's a plan..."

"If you want to leave..." Lana left the door open for her. She didn't need her. Hawke shouldn't even be here - this was warden business, personal warden business.

But Hawke snorted at the offer, "What? And let you have all the fun? I'll have you know I invade fortresses for breakfast, assuming they've got that rich butter sauce you pour over eggs. Otherwise there's not much point."

She was trying to get Lana to laugh, but it wouldn't work. Nothing would crack through her. The blood hardened to a brown char across her hands, but she didn't stop to wipe it away. She needed it, needed her hands stained with the warden's blood while she choked the life out of Erimond. Let him look upon what he wrought for the last second of his life. Hawke gave up her attempt at lifting the mood and would only speak up to point out the wildlife. Either the animals roaming the sands weren't hungry for the lone pair crossing through their home, or even the varghasts and phoenixes could sense the depths Lana was willing to delve to reach her goal.

After her third flare, when the half moon hung high in the sky, she spotted Adamant in the distance. It looked like a cockleburr silhouetted by the stars, the towers mimicking the spikes of the burr prepared to draw blood from anyone who dared trod on it. Hawke whistled at the sight, "So that's it? That's what we're taking on our own?"

"We're not taking Adamant," Lana assured her.

"Good, because that seemed rather, excusing my Orlesian here, fucking bonkers. We can see that little toad's horseprints up to the door, no reason to..."

"We're going to sneak in and kill Erimond," Lana interrupted her, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She'd been ripping into the veil every chance she could, trying to stockpile as much mana as possible into every corner of her body. So much power radiated through her body, she feared she might be glowing in the blue-black desert.

Hawke sighed, "I knew you were going to say that. Look, I know, I get it, he's bad. He hurt you."

"You don't get it," Lana hissed, snapping her vitriol at Hawke. Her cousin didn't back down, or glare back, but a twist of concern and pain rolled through her face. "I..." Lana groaned, her head flopping forward, "I have to kill him. It's the only way without dragging the wardens into a war."

"By the two of us taking down a fortress," Hawke continued, her words skipping in octaves to try and point out the madness in Lana's plan. "I hope you've got a battering ram hidden in your satchel."

"Don't worry," Lana smiled, "I know a secret way in." It was pure luck. Wynne came to her a few years ago before the Circles collapsed, asking if the Warden Commander knew anything about Adamant. Apparently, some mages wanted to use the old fortress for research, rather temperamental research the chantry wasn't thrilled about. Lana hadn't had much in the library, but when Wynne disappeared, she looked deeper into Adamant. A remnant from the second blight, it held secrets that no other Wardens would have reason to know about. Secrets she could exploit against Clarel and her own people.

Hawke shrugged her shoulders, rotating her massive sword. "All right, lead on."

They kept quiet, slinking low through the dunes to avoid any patrols or eyes on the towers. Little light escaped from the stars, the moon focusing its gaze to the far east. Even still, Lana kept a dampening spell up and skirted behind every creeping rock or dead stump they could find. She moved them away from the shuttered entrance, a fact Hawke was ecstatic about, and around the side. There used to be a river running underneath Adamant, but it dried up ages ago leaving behind a small gap in the fortress' defenses. Lana missed it three times as they passed back and forth along the walls. She was concerned about pressing closer, but the light of the moon broke behind the fortress, casting them into an eternal shadow. With only the stars to guide her, she could see at best an inch past her face. Her fingers dragging across the walls, Lana finally stumbled across their entrance into Adamant.

Hawke scoffed at the tiny hole, but Lana assured her it would get larger. The hole wasn't their true entrance into the fortress. There was an escape tunnel carved through the bones of the fortress which the river used to run counter with. Sadly, the escape tunnel itself was sealed up from the inside. The only way to open it was by going through Adamant, or hopefully by taking the riverbed. Lana ran her fingers around the edge of the broken foundation and risked casting a single flare inside. Blue light landed against the dissolved rock highlighting jagged and broken stones but no guards. Darkness stretched deeper in.

"Wait," Hawke's hand landed on her shoulder keeping her from entering. "We could still go back, ya know. I don't know if he'd like you running head first into a fortress."

"The Inquisitor already knows we were off to Adamant," Lana said. She rolled off Hawke's hand and straightened her robes.

"That ain't the he I'm talking about."

Lana started; her head was halfway into the hole when she turned back to her cousin. She hadn't thought of...no, there was no place for any of that. This was her life, and Cullen - whatever she had with him - was something else entirely. She belonged to the wardens and no one else. Sizing up the hole, Lana muttered, "He's not my keeper," and then she slid into it. Crouching to avoid the crush of the foundation above her head, Lana kept a hand above her while she slipped through the murky darkness. Behind her she heard a dramatic curse as her taller cousin struggled with the low ceiling.

"How about I crawl on my belly instead? It'd be blighted easier!" Hawke shouted again, her voice echoing down the cavern.

When no one came running at her cousin's bellows, Lana risked lifting light upon her fingers. This time it was that odd veil fire the Inquisitor's camp kept on about, the blue memory of flame flickering at the tip of her thumb. Stalagmites pressed against her like an abandoned horse's teeth. The craggy edges, once worn smooth by the river, built up overtime thanks to its loss. "Be careful," Lana whispered to Hawke.

"Careful of what? Maker damn it!" she shouted, knocking into one of the stalactites dangling off the ceiling.

"I think I see the entrance up ahead," Lana called behind her. By the glow of her thumb she could see a dark gap through the cavern's skin. The gash was just large enough to let one of them through at a time, if they were careful. She didn't turn back to her cousin still at war with the maze of rocks. Hawke would catch up, Lana was certain. Wedging her staff through the gap first, Lana sucked in a breath and slid against the broken entrance. She had to pull in her stomach while twisting her chest outward to fit through the keyhole. Rocks grabbed onto her robes clawing away the outer crust of blood and sweat, nearly scraping her clean. She wished her conscious was that easy to scrub free. Almost losing her balance, Lana's foot wavered in the air before a dark drop. She called up a drop of light from the end of her staff and glanced down at the cavern only a few feet below.

"There's a drop but it shouldn't be bad," Lana called out behind her and then she made good on her assurance. Her foot skittered down the wall, the angle knocking against an inflamed toe, but she landed without any irreparable damage. "Hm," Lana turned back, casting her light up to the gap. While the fall wasn't bad, getting back up there might prove impossible, the reach beyond what she could manage. Probably even beyond what Hawke could accomplish. Well, that was something to worry about later. "Hawke," she tried to shout without raising her voice. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," her cousin boomed through the gap, "funny thing. You're a wee bit teenier than me and unless you've got some shrinking spell I don't know about, I'm not fitting through this."

Damn it! Lana paced back and forth, her shoes dipping in and out of the pocked ground threatening to tip her off balance. She needed to get to Erimond before...she needed to kill him, to end this before it all began. "I could try and blast the rock, but..."

"Let me guess," Hawke sang-sung, "cave in." She was going to say it'd alert all the guards in the area, but a cave in was also likely. "I've got an idea if you give me a few. Might not be smart, but I'll get to you one way or another."

"Right," Lana nodded. She trusted Hawke to do her best, but also mentally prepared for going it alone. It wouldn't be the first time she'd taken on the enemy with no one by her side. "I'm going to move ahead, see if I can find a passage deeper into the fortress."

"What?" Hawke shouted, "That's daft." Some more words followed about how idiotic she was, but they fell into the walls as Lana lit up her thumb and continued down the passage. Unlike the split cave, this area was carved, the walls smooth, the ceiling not preparing to bite down upon anyone under it. It was most likely the secret tunnel out of Adamant. It bore no marks of the Deep Roads and, aside from the calling knocking about in her head, she could only feel the barest whisper of the taint. She was picking up on grey wardens near, but given an entire fortress full of them it wasn't unexpected. On occasion she'd trod against something that splintered with a crunch, the shards of a broken bone skittering down the hallway. Whoever last used this tunnel didn't all make it out. And that could be you, Lana. You know what you're doing is akin to, where it will lead to, but you're not going to stop. The self preservation part of her, the niggling doubt in her soul, reprimanded her every step, but she shook it off. She didn't need it, didn't want it. There were many times in her life she'd thrown herself in harm's way with no plan beyond hoping to take the other person down with her. It wasn't sound, it wasn't logical, but when faced with no choice she'd make it when no one else would. And now, she had to finish this before Clarel drove the wardens beyond salvation, before the armies of the Inquisition got involved. Or worse, what if all of thedas turned on the wardens? Even if a blight was no true threat now, a large if, to leave no one behind would doom the entire world. She had no choice, she had to end this before there was nothing worth salvaging.

Lana slipped further down the tunnels, trying to mask her footsteps as best she could, but in the darkness she feared her own heartbeat thundered out a warning to the wardens marching above her. How many had already been turned? How many waited eagerly to slit another's throat, to bind someone else to a demon? Were they even worth preserving? Taking two turns, the sense in her body tingled lifting the hairs on the back of her neck. Instinctively, she flooded herself with all the mana she could tap. Flattening against the rock, Lana tried to listen to the cavern just beyond. Her blood told her wardens were close, but how close? Were they only above her? Risking it alone and unprepared was unwise, but coming out ice flinging could be a waste of mana and draw undue attention.

Pulling her staff tighter to her body, she tipped her head back against the rock. A prayer slipped from her lips, not of the chantry, but a personal one that she'd spoken since first leaving the tower with Duncan. "Let me get this right." Knotting her hands around her staff she brought it to life. Power crashed through it, red energy hissing and twisting around the wood. She didn't shy away from it as before, but accepted the corrupting lyrium into her the same as the fire and the ice. She needed it all to pull this off.

Once more steadying herself, Lana stepped away from the wall and strode calmly into the cavern. A single lantern flickered on the floor revealing the faces of three wardens standing guard to the only entrance into Adamant. She had no choice, she had to incapacitate them. Wardens. Her people. They were all standing in repose for their duty, a leg against the wall shooting the breeze, bored. Then they spotted the shadow moving against the grey stones. One rose up, reaching to unsheathe his sword. Lana flashed her fist, ice crystalizing around his hand pinning it to his blade's grip, and freezing it all together into the scabbard. The second reached for a bow, but Lana was prepared for that too. No longer afraid of the fire burning down anything she cared for, flames leapt from her fingers to twist against the only wood in this stone prison. The archer tried to dance away from the flames, but she'd pinned herself into the alcove. Red hot fire spit off Lana's fingers and wrapped along the archer's only weapon. Before the fire reached her own hands, the archer tossed the cindered bow away, its ashes scattered against the stone ground.

Lana turned to the third, prepared to finish him off, when a wave of energy knocked through her marrow ripping away every ounce of mana in her body. Fuck! It was a templar! Nausea bubbled up her gullet from the abrupt hole left inside of her and she steadied herself against her staff. It'd been too long since she'd fought one, much less a templar pulsing with lyrium. She scrabbled to bring back her mana while aiming her staff at the man's head. A bolt of energy fired towards him, but it scattered against the rocks, her aim off as her body raced to refuel itself while fighting. The templar warden unsheathed his own sword and came roaring at her. Lana flipped her staff up to meet his blade. She flared up a barrier just in time, and with it, she shoved the man back. Dipping into the fade, she tried to find the hexes, the old tricks for boiling the lyrium inside a templar, but there was so little inside of her and she needed time.

Trying to multi-task, Lana drove her staff blade towards the templar, but he shook it off, sparks flying as her blade skittered down his shield. She felt the hex forming in the back of her mind, almost ready. Nearly there. She went to throw it at the templar when he dropped down to a knee. Shit! Lana didn't have time to ground herself as a swell of power burst off the templar, plucking her body from the ground and hurling her against the wall. Her head bounced against the rock, white obliterating her vision as her hands numbed over. The staff tumbled from her dead fingers and she collapsed to her knees, pain shattering through her back and down her toes.

Her numb fingers fumbled for her staff. As the white vision faded, she scrabbled away when the templar grabbed his fist around her neck and pinned her to the wall. Metal gloves bit into her throat threatening to pinch off her larynx. Her fingers tried to wedge into his grip and pry them off. He flexed his hand cutting off her oxygen. Panicking, Lana clawed feverishly at his hand, ripping off a nail to try and free herself, but there was nothing to do. She was little more than a paper thin butterfly in his iron grip. But he wasn't trying to kill her, only make a point.

"Cast another spell, mage, and I will end you," he hissed. "Slowly." Lana lowered her hands, but her eyes burned with rage into the templar's face. "Go and get the Commander," he ordered to the archer, who saluted and slipped through the guarded door into the fortress.

Despite keeping her hands low, Lana tugged on the remnants of her spells, binding them together into a force that would rattle the teeth from his mouth while the templar crushed her to the wall. She had just the start of something when he poured another wave of dispel against her, wiping away all her work. For added emphasis, he leaned tighter into her neck and warned, "Do not try me, mage."

"I wouldn't dream of it, templar," she stuttered back, her voice raw from his fingers. She hung like that, her tiptoes grazing the ground while the templar glared into her face. If he recognized her, he gave no hint, but she was probably more likely to be killed on sight by those who knew her than granted a pardon.

When the door finally opened, it wasn't an executioner coming with orders to finish her off, but a far worse fate. Clarel held her own staff in her fingers, her heartless eyes canvassing Lana's bulging ones as she scrabbled for more breath. "Well, this is surprising," Clarel drawled, then in an amusing twist, bobbed her head, "Warden Commander."

"Hello," Lana coughed, twisting in her hold, "Warden Commander."

Clarel cast a gentle warming spell over her warrior's frozen hands melting Lana's ice to slush. He yanked his fingers free and massaged them, bringing back life. "Still alive I see. Ten years since you failed and yet didn't fail to make the sacrifice asked of all of us," Clarel tsked her tongue as she slipped beside her bull of a templar. Her spidery fingers grazed near his hold upon Lana, but she didn't say anything against him. "One day I will learn your secret."

Good bloody luck. Lana twisted her glare away from the templar's meaty mug to Clarel's icy stare. If there was one thing she knew about Morrigan, no amount of torture from any grey warden would ever get the truth from her. And that wasn't even taking into account the motherly love for her boy, the kind of motherly fervor that would shatter every bone in a person's body before risking him. That woman would break you long before she'd ever crack. Clarel danced back and forth on her feet as if she was unable to remain still. How terrified was she of the taint singing in their heads? Death and sacrifice seem so easy to speak of when they're not breathing down your neck. Her calculating eyes tried to dissect the mage before her. They'd never got on, to put it nicely. To have two mage Warden Commanders sharing a border was unheard of. People were afraid to have that much power placed in any magic user, much less two covering so much of southern thedas. And of course, no one high in the Warden echelons trusted Lana. The mage who ended a blight and killed an archdemon without dying. It was impossible, it flew in the face of the backbone of the order. But here she was, proving them wrong with every breath.

"What are you doing, Clarel?" Lana gasped, wiggling under the tight grip. "Threatening another Warden Commander? Ordering her death? What will Weisshaupt say of this?" Clarel's body snapped rigid, her head slithering forward, and she glowered at her prisoner. Lana smiled from her barb, "You're not working under orders from the First Warden, are you? Does he even know what is happening here? What madness you're attempting?"

"We are doing what is necessary to stop the blight," Clarel threw her shoulders back, proudly extending her head. "Which you would be aware of if you ever served your own order."

The fist squeezed tighter against her neck, but Lana scoffed, "And in the process you turn every damn person in thedas against the grey wardens. For Andraste's sake, blood magic! Demons! You won't just destroy the wardens, you'll take down every mage with you for this!"

Clarel flared her hand with fire, the idle threat drifting near to Lana's face, but she didn't blink from it. "We are wardens, nothing more. The politics of thedas is not our concern. We serve to stop the blight, not coddle the people."

"Right, because that denial will let you sleep at night when hundreds of mage children are slaughtered in the street because of- Oof!" the templar slammed a fist in her stomach, cutting off her tearing the truth into his Commander. Her limited oxygen fled from her lungs leaving Lana light headed. Tears sprung at the back of her eyes, her toes falling numb as they tried to drag against the ground. Clarel placed a warning hand on the templar's arm, but she didn't reprimand him.

Willing away the pain building from every attempt to talk, Lana called out, "We can finish this, stop this now if you'd listen to me."

The older woman's eyes narrowed and she turned upon her prisoner, "You think you know more of the blight than I? Than anyone because you lucked out into stopping one. Hubris is your true nature, Solona Amell."

"I know more than you when it comes to Erimond. Give me him, let me finish him and we can work together. You think the Inquisition is going to turn its back on you? They know your plans same as I, Clarel. They will stop you."

All three wardens whipped their heads to their Commander, concern clawing across their faces. If it was true, if the Inquisition was coming for them, then what hope did they have? The wardens weren't an army, they weren't supposed to be. Clarel sneered and thrust her face at Lana's. "You know very little of anything in this world, and even less of Lord Erimond."

"What do you think you will accomplish by aligning with a blood mage? By sacrificing your own for his needs?"

Clarel's entire body snapped up straight and she threw her head back, certainty brimming through her veins. "I am doing what will preserve thedas, I am ending the blights once and for all." Nodding at her men, the Warden Commander turned away towards the door.

Through a suckered breath, Lana caught the end of a giggle. She coughed a few more times, her larynx pushing against the templar's palm, but her laugh grew stronger with each new breath. Clarel whipped back around, a sneer lifting her thin lips, but she didn't say a word, only watched as Lana threw her eyes up and lost her mind in laughter. Even the templar shifted uncomfortably in his boots, driving his fist in deeper, but Lana continued to laugh through that pinch.

She shook her head against the wall, rattling her remaining braids and then beamed every shred of experience she had scraping across Ferleden, building an army from nothing, and ending a blight before it destroyed her home. "It is always glory with the types who will drag us all to the void with them."

Clarel snorted once at Lana's impudence, then she leaned back and folded her arms, a decision crossing her face. "We will not kill you, if that is your concern. No," she tapped her finger against her lips as if Clarel had any choice in the coming storm. The woman was a puppet in all but name. "The wardens require stout mages. You will be an asset I will not waste."

"I will kill myself before you ever turn me into an abomination!" Lana screamed, her fingers reaching towards Clarel. The templar gripped tighter, locking off her oxygen but Clarel tipped her head for him to release Lana. Her hands fell to her side, one curling into her robe as if to steady herself from the attack.

Clarel snickered, "Then your blood will guide us to victory. Bring her to..."

Flying through the air, a ceramic pot shattered against the ground. White smoke billowed through the cavern, blanketing everyone in the fog. Obscured from sight, the wardens spun around, weapons drawn but useless. "Stop!" Clarel coughed, "Do not let her escape."

Lana felt the templar renew another mana purge, but she had other plans. When he turned his head back to try and find the new assailant, Lana unsheathed her dagger and drove it deep into his stomach. The templar screamed, his blood pouring into her hands while she twisted the knife deeper up his ribcage. He tried to crush the life out of Lana, pushing both hands into her throat, but she yanked the knife from his wound, drew back her arm and sliced the blade across his eyes. Blinded by his own blood, the templar finally released her, his fingers trying to purge the pain in his eyes. Lana's feet skidded to the ground and she reached blindly for her staff. Above her stepped a giant of a woman whirling a sword carved from a mountain.

"Cuz!" Hawke screamed in the chaos, "We need to be getting gone!"

Instinctively, Lana threw up a barrier around Hawke just as Clarel burst a beam of fire against her. Hawke spun towards the Warden Commander and waved her sword menacingly. "That tickles," she sneered.

"I'm here to kill Erimond!" Lana shouted. Her fingers skidded across her staff, the wood humming to her machinations. She yanked it up and tried to peer through the smoke biting into her eyes. There was a glimmer of Clarel's warden robes darting through the haze and Lana cast her second most powerful ice spell at her. The seasoned mage caught it, the ice harmlessly scattering away, but she breathed heavy from the exertion, her own mana taking a hit. This might be her only chance to finish this madness once and for all. Lana twisted up her own mana, prepared to knock Clarel on her idiotic head, when Hawke grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up like she was a bag of rice.

"What are you doing?" she shouted, trying to not flail her legs like an obstinate child.

"There's this thing called reinforcements," Hawke chided. She kicked aside the bleeding templar and leapt into the cavern while still carrying Lana.

"I bloody well know what reinforcements are."

"Good, because they're on their way. At least a dozen of 'em, maybe more. I don't know about you, but I can't do that many, and unless we get out fast, we're gonna have the entire fortress on our assess."

Damn them all, she was right. Peering from behind Hawke, Lana watched Clarel cast a whirlwind strong enough to wipe away the remaining smoke. Her nemesis leaned down to the bleeding man. With enough healing, he'd live. She'd probably blinded him, but... Clarel stuck her dagger into the man's throat, emptying his veins, the raw power flooding into the cavern.

"Hawke...drop me!"

"No, you're not going back there!"

"I know that, but we need to both run, now!" Lana tipped her voice to an order, and Hawke obeyed. She caught onto the ground, her shoes slicking against the rock. Lana spun to follow after her cousin, but not before she watched all the templar's blood rushing up around Clarel like a gruesome robe. What was she doing? Maker, Lana barely knew how to fight against the stumbling blood magic of the south, she had no idea how to combat seasoned tevinter malifecarum.

She threw up another barrier trying to seal off the tunnels as they ran through them. Clarel tossed her first bolt, the power easily slicing through Lana's shield and blasting into the ceiling. They had to get out fast. There was no way she could stop that kind of force. Redoubling her barriers, Lana tried to follow in Hawke's stampeding wake, but more than exhaustion deadened her limbs and yanked down her arms. Dread and despair in equal parts overloaded her system, the rage that powered her through the desert broken and lost. All she had left was the will to live, to not have Clarel drain her body, then toss it aside like an empty water skin.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Lana shouted at Hawke.

"Don't worry, I've got a plan," Hawke called back a near copy of Lana's own words. For a moment, she wondered if that was sarcasm, but her cousin sounded genuine.

"Ah!" Lana shrieked. One of Clarel's bolts slipped clean through her barrier and nicked Lana in the shoulder. Her robes were burned through, leaving charred black skin in its wake, but there was no blood. Thank the Maker for small miracles. "What is this plan?"

Hawke twisted her running not towards the gap in the wall to the riverbed, but deeper down the tunnel. Her boots slapped against the blackened ground, the panting of her breath giving away that she was pulling further and further away from Lana. "Hawke, what's your plan?" she screamed again. And then she saw it - hints of dawn's light illuminated their doom. A portcullis cut off their only remaining means of escape, its bars thick enough to let at best an arm through, nothing more. "Blessed Andraste, no," Lana moaned, the last vestiges of her driving force drying away from her. She stumbled, almost falling to her knees.

Patting her hand along the wall, Hawke turned back to her and grinned. She reached into a hidden crevice and yanked back on a lever. "You aren't the only one who knows ancient traps." Like a miracle from on high, the portcullis began to rise, dust shaking off the hinges. But it was going too slowly. Clarel's attacks continued, her energy blasts chewing through every barrier Lana placed. She wasn't running down the tunnel to catch them, she didn't have to. The woman was enjoying this game of chase.

"Hawke!" Lana shouted. "You have any of those smoke bombs left?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Give it to me," Lana held out her hand and accepted the clay pot. She glared at it as she reached into the pouch along her belt and extracted the last of her lyrium sand. This was so far gone on the list of wise things to do, but they had no choice. Clarel would catch them before they could escape. She dumped half of the tube into the clay pot, hopefully enough to cause the right amount of damage without killing anyone. Securing the rest of the lyrium sand, Lana backed up to her cousin beside the still rising portcullis.

"Right after I throw this, roll under the door as fast as you can."

"Uh," Hawke slotted her greatsword on her back, "how about I throw it instead?"

"That's a good idea," Lana passed her the clay pot, "but be careful."

Hawke shrugged and with the might of biceps that could wrestle qunari, she hurled the bomb through the air. It missed all the possible obstacles Lana would have hit and struck against the stone floor nearly a hundred feet away. Fire burst out of it, the lyrium igniting from the impact. An explosion fractured the cavern, rending the stone walls in half. Rocks and shrapnel shattered, racing to fill both sides of the tunnel like solid water. Lana grabbed onto her staff and rolled under the rising door. She tugged onto Hawke's pants leg to get her to look away from the cool explosion. Shaking her head, Hawke followed suit, both of them rolling past the barrier and further down the tunnel, until they rose back to their feet. Chunks of rock slammed against the rising door, the force denting the iron like it was paper.

Without looking back, Lana and Hawke raced out of the tunnel towards daylight. Lana threw up a few barriers around them for fear of archers, but if they kept to the dry riverbed they should be able to sneak past and back to the Inquisition camp. Maker, what had she done? She'd thought it'd be so easy, that she could end this all by herself, but now Clarel knew they knew of her plans. He was going to kill her.

"Welp," Hawke cheerfully called from her side, "that coulda gone better. Who's gonna tell the Inquisitor?"


	18. Chapter 18

"In a matter of minutes, you managed to destroy what little edge we had against Corypheus, place the entire Inquisition in danger, and - for all we are aware - increased the warden's timeline. The demon army could be pouring out of the fade at this very moment and we have no way yet to combat or stop it!"

The Inquisitor stood stock still before his war map, his grey eyes slicing through the silent mage. Lana's hands dangled limply at her side and she stared blankly through the elf. She'd only managed a few words here and there, her throat constricting in pain, the bruise blisteringly evident even against her darker skin. It was Hawke who told the full tale and tried to spin it as best she could; Lana added nothing beyond a yes or no when a question was put to her. The rest of the advisers stood behind the Inquisitor, each of them passing furtive glances but no one else spoke. It was only the elf who continued haranguing Lana, and rightly so. She'd failed more than just the Inquisition, perhaps risked all of thedas and for what?

"Look, it was a quick decision made in heat of battle. Things happen," Hawke stuck up for her. She'd tossed her greatsword against the wall upon entering the war room and tried to mimic Lana's subservient pose, but Hawke couldn't stand still long. Grabbing onto her sword's grip, the warrior swung it through the air in what to the rest looked like a threat. "Leave it be," Hawke spoke in her natural shout. Josephine gasped from the display, her eyes darting down to her clipboard while Leliana and the commander both rose up in the event they needed to stop a Hawke rampage. Even the Inquisitor stumbled back, her eyes widening out of their frozen glare. Unaware of the terror she was stirring, Hawke continued to rotate her wrist, the sword slicing through air that could easily contain a body.

Lana's fingers snapped out and grabbed onto Hawke's arm. She glanced at the intrusion, then twisted back down her blade, confusion across her face. Lana knew that it was simply Hawke needing to do something and there being a sword in the way. That was how her mind worked, she thought by doing, but this wasn't the time or place. Shaking her head slowly, Lana released her grip and Hawke lowered her weapon.

The Inquisitor was the first to rebound as the rush of tension cracked away, but his eyes remained fixed on Hawke who was returning her sword to the wall. "There is the heat of battle, and then there is making tactical decisions that are not yours to decide. I thought we were of the same mind, Lady Amell, but it seems I was mistaken."

Lana folded her hands up and placed them against her stomach. She stared through him, past a nick in his ear to a tree branch banging against the open window pane. Its leaves were a golden sunset, a strange color for spring. He glared at her silence, obviously expecting her own rebuttal, but when none was forthcoming, the Inquisitor continued to rant, "And you wasted a perfect opportunity for us. We could have used that tunnel ourselves to take down the Warden forces from multiple fronts."

"Or they'd have chopped you all up into bits. Seemed they were expecting someone to take that path," Hawke grumbled. She'd leaned against the wall beside her sword and tipped her head down, but even her angry whispers echoed through the room.

"Be that as it may," the Inquisitor whipped his head from the Champion to the Hero. There were too many titles in the room. "We are at war with the wardens and I, I am uncertain whose side you are on."

Lana's eyes slipped away from the branches peering through the window and deep into the Inquisitor's. Her face curled up, the blank slate chipping and breaking away to the stoked rage in her heart. "I am with whoever intends to kill Erimond," her voice rasped and she coughed at the end, struggling against the pain in her throat. She could heal it, at least blot the sting away, but the Inquisitor wasn't the only one who needed to punish her.

He blanched for a moment from her obvious discomfort and glanced back at the advisers. No one came to her rescue, no one even sprung forward to offer a glass of water. It was the right move. "What you have done was idiotic, brash beyond measure, the very fact that you'd..."

"You're wasting time," she interrupted, her sight back on the window, her eyes as dead as a statue's.

"Time because of what you did, what you..."

"I know."

"Then you admit fault?" the Inquisitor shook his head, disbelieving she'd give in so simply.

"I failed," Lana admitted. The others started as if she confessed her soul, but she'd been speaking the words every step to Skyhold. She knew she failed the moment Clarel confronted her. If she'd let the wardens take her, she wouldn't have to suffer the shame of failure, but facing down a chastising Inquisitor was preferable to becoming an abomination. "Unless you intend to throw me in your dungeon, or stretch my neck on a block, repeating it will do little."

The Inquisitor's hands ran across his face, the fingers digging into his forehead. Behind his palms, he sighed, "On that we can agree. Go, go until we..." He turned back to the advisers clustered around the map. "Until we can solve this."

Lana didn't bow, didn't nod, barely acknowledged his words. She turned on her heels and marched out of the room. Hawke grabbed her sword and followed, but Lana shook her head. She needed time, and while Hawke was a great distraction she was also a terrible distraction. Lana extended her hand to indicate Varric who'd been sitting just near enough to the war room to overhear everything. Hawke sighed, but stepped towards the dwarf. She was certain to replay Lana's blunder to him in more vivid details and with extra dragons. It should sting her, but Lana was numb. Her heart beat sluggishly, each thump of the organ pulsing pain against her throat. She'd nearly died, been slit across the neck, had her blood drained to unleash a demon army and all she felt inside her veins was the void. An eternal nothingness.

Drifting away from Hawke, Varric, and the bright hall filled with soldiers unaware of the coming battle, Lana pushed open doors at random until she stumbled into the gardens. Juxtaposed against the snowy backdrop, the burst of green appeared even fresher than seemed possible. Floral scents hung in the air, lavender and jasmine popular, as well as the little yellow flowers dotting elfroot. Most people claimed they had no scent, but she could swear there was an almost peppery smell when they bloomed. A few people reclined through the grounds, the head gardener tending to one of the Inquisitor's pots with a trowel in each hand while she dug deep in the soil. Peace reigned here, a gentle balm away from everything Corypheus wanted to destroy.

Slipping around the ferns, Lana settled on a bench partially obscured by the greens. In the far end of the garden she caught sight of a boy, little more than eight or nine, zipping in and out of the gazebo's columns. He leapt forward, his hands clapping in the air, but upon pulling them back to his face, he sighed in disappointment. Pushing the dark hair off his forehead, he watched the silken blue wings of the butterfly flitting against the flowers. Abandoning the frontal assault, the boy crouched low and crept like water against the shore towards it. He moved softly for a child, but upon reaching the butterfly's bush he popped up shouting in joy. His prize fluttered away before the boy had a chance to get near it.

"Kieran." Lana followed the voice to see Morrigan chasing after the boy, a chastising look upon her face. "What are you playing at?"

"I wanted to see if I could fly, mother," the boy explained staring up at her.

Morrigan smiled with pursed lips, her fingers ruffling her son's hair. Bending low towards him, she said, "In time. How about we play the dragon game instead?" To Lana's surprise, Morrigan hoisted her son up by his arms. The boy squealed in delight, then - after positioning himself as if he was flying above his mother - roared like a dragon blanketing the gardens in flame. His not so realistic dragon cries scattered all the butterflies hiding in the brambles, a multitude of blue silk canvassing the sky. But the boy didn't notice, he was too busy playing with his mother.

Ten years. She'd been gifted ten years, and what did she have to show for it? No wardens, the world once again upon the brink of ruin, and her own order - the only place she had left in the world - terrified of her. More than terrified, planning her death, hoping to use her, to bind her to a demon. To turn her into the very thing she feared. Life would have been so much simpler if she'd taken the blow instead, if she'd left Alistair behind, told Morrigan there was no deal, and sacrificed herself as a good Grey Warden did.

And yet... Her heart stung as she watched the boy who'd never have lived fly into his mother's arms, his hands trying to slip leaves in Morrigan's slick hair. His existence was as dubious as Lana's, but she had no right to wish it way from him. Even if, even with the soul of the old god inside of him, he deserved hope. She on the other hand...

"May I..." Lana broke away from the happy family to turn and gaze up at Cullen. His eyes betrayed nothing beyond the stoic commander weary from the endless grind, but he couldn't stop fidgeting with his sword. "May I sit beside you?"

She shrugged. It wasn't as if she had any right to throw him out, he had an army behind him and she had no one. They were gone. All of them. Her fingers curled against her staff, digging into the names carved into the wood like life lines upon a palm. Cullen settled beside her, his hands gripping onto the bench below him but inching no closer to her. He stared out across the picturesque garden letting the cool breeze speak for him.

"Have you come to reprimand me as well?" she asked, her eyes glaring at her hands.

"I..." he sat up higher and turned his head to her, even rotating his shoulder to look fully upon her. But she couldn't lift her eyes to face him. "No, I didn't. I understand, you hoped to bypass an incursion by our forces, to save as many of your people as possible."

Lana gasped, a sob choking in her raw throat. Tears prickled in the back of her eyes, but she fought against them. "You don't actually believe that, do you?" She finally broke away from her staff to stare into his face. The stoic commander breathed in from the heartbreak rolling through her body. He blinked his own eyes before turning away.

"No, but I..." Cullen fell silent, his exhausted eyes glaring at the harsh sunlight.

Leaving her staff laying across her lap, Lana folded up her fists and banged them together. The rapport of knuckle meeting knuckle, bones knocking each other about gave her a satisfying jolt of pain. Her fingers could ache for days after casting so much magic in one go, for now they were down to a dull throb made worse by the cold of the mountain. "I lied to Hawke," she said throwing her head back. Instead of glaring at the sun, Lana slipped her eyes closed, the warmth stinging her skin. "No, I lied to myself too. But I knew it was a lie even as I pursued him. Needed him dead, needed to feel his final..." She pulled in a shuddering breath against her aching throat and stared down at her flexed fingers. They'd been cleaned, even the blood under her nails scrubbed away, but she still felt it. Not just darkspawn ichor, or bandit gore, but the blood from her own people, the ones that he slit open. No, the ones he convinced other wardens to kill.

"He twisted them, perverted what's inside of us, what we need to, have to suffer to- I haven't felt this depth of anger since, since..." her thoughts trailed away and she glanced towards Cullen. With his head bent low, his eyes closed, he appeared to be in prayer. It'd been a long time since Lana dared to impose upon any higher power. With each passing day she felt less clean, far too impure to even step foot inside a chantry. Whether it was the taint growing inside of her or the river of blood following her every footstep she couldn't say.

Taking a calming breath, Cullen turned towards her and whispered, "Uldred?" She nodded, her voice shattered. The blood mage who destroyed her home, her friends, took everything she'd left behind. It was the first time the depths of her soul twisted into ice itself, an endless void from which no warmth would ever spring free. But upon splitting open Uldred's skull, the ice chipped away and melted to leave behind splinters of what once was. She'd patched them back together by never returning to the tower, never truly facing what was lost. Ignorance was her healing, she did it even now. There was no time to mourn Nathaniel, no time to... No, she simply didn't want to drag herself down to those depths for fear that she might not come up for air. And now, now she knew she'd have to kill her fellow Wardens, have to freeze them, crush them, mutilate their bodies the same as she did her old mage friends - her true family - turned into demons and malifecarum. Again.

Her fingers twisted around the staff in her lap, rolling across the names until she stumbled upon an old one. She traced along the loops spelling it out repeating the action endlessly as she stared through the garden. Cullen remained quiet beside her, either waiting for her to continue or lost in his own memories. Maker, she'd only suffered Uldred's wrath for a few hours, but he'd been in their for weeks. Watched as all of his friends...

"I understood," she said blinking against the tears streaking down her cheeks. For once, she wasn't crying for herself.

Cullen twisted his head like coming out of a fog, "Understood?"

"Why you, when I found you in the tower behind the... I understood why you were so angry at mages. At all of us."

"No, I shouldn't have. It was wrong of me to put that on you. To...you were there to help and I-I. Andraste's tears, forgive me," he crumbled into his hands.

Lana broke away from the name to run her fingers up and down his shoulder. When he wouldn't break away she cupped her hand behind his and gently pulled is from his face. Cullen still wouldn't look her way, but he turned his hand in hers and clung tighter to her. She spoke, "That anger is...it ruins better people. Often forever. I only climbed back from the edge because, because I could ignore it. What you must have faced, I can't even imagine it."

"I'm doing what I can..." he sighed.

"And I'm failing at it," she responded, turning away from him to watch as the blue butterflies returned to their branches. With no one to disturb them, they landed confidently, their wings twitching as they drank their fill. Cullen shook his head at her, his anger bubbling over as if that could convince her she was wrong.

Her finger traced the name again and she tipped the staff up to him to show it off. "Gareth," she read it off her heart. There were just as many names on there that were little more than a roster call now, but this one she knew well. This one she wouldn't forget.

"I don't remember a mage named that," Cullen said, then he paused to add, "or templar."

"He was a warden," Lana explained. A temperamental smile twisted up her lips. "I recruited him from the Pearl in Denerim."

"The Pearl? Do...do wardens often have dealings in brothels?"

Lana laughed at his question, "More often than one would expect. It seems like every manner of back deal in Ferelden is done at the Pearl. Must be the excellent broth they have. But I didn't find him on business. I spotted Gareth working the crowds during a festival. He was supposed to be advertising for the Pearl by performing a few simple feats of agility, dashing about on wires stretched above the crowd. Rather banal things done to impress while wearing as little clothing as indecency could allow. I didn't notice him until someone in the crowd attempted to assault one his co-workers. The man sprang off a high wire, grabbed onto a beam for leverage, and plummeted onto the thief without disturbing another person. I offered the position to him on the spot.

"He was eager to become a hero. Many in Denerim hoped that the great Hero of Ferelden would find potential in them. Turn them into slayers of darkspawn. They didn't know, didn't understand what the Wardens take from you. But I did. I stood by watching as every man and woman took in the taint, doomed themselves to an eventual death. If it weren't for me..." Lana shook her head, she was telling Gareth's story, not mewling about her own sorry state. "Gareth survived the joining, popped up even quicker than was usual."

"And the other wardens were accepting of a..."

"Prostitute?" Lana asked. "We take all kinds, a man who traded sex for money was far from the worst of the lot. He was committed to the cause having been at the battle in Denerim, watched his own friends be cut down by darkspawn. Funnier than you'd expect too, wit as dry as kindling."

Cullen's fingers gripped tighter to her hand, pressing into her, "What happened to him?"

"There was a cave-in in the deep roads. We were trapped with darkspawn pressing in on all sides. We could escape but someone...someone had to buy us time, and Gareth volunteered," her fingers circled that name, remembering his shaggy hair shaved along the side, those wild gray-green eyes, and the way he always mashed up his eggs with a spoon until they were goo. "He was the first warden I ever lost. The first I ever ordered to his death, but not the last."

Silence slipped across them both, only the whistle of a few swallows dipping in and out of Skyhold's eaves breaking it up. Cullen's fingers dug tighter to her and he dropped his voice to a bare whisper. "The scar you spotted upon my chest, from Haven..."

Lana nodded, she remembered it well.

"I didn't receive it from debris. As we were pulling back to the church in a retreat, a red templar pounced upon me. I ordered the other soldiers to finish taking the wounded inside, certain I could finish off one alone. But when... The helmet fell off and even through the corruption branching inside her skin, I knew her. It was one of my templars from Kirkwall, one I'd helped train. She believed in the order, put her faith in it with a fervor I'd have thought impossible. And look what it did to her. What it did to us all. My arm slackened, I couldn't, wouldn't attack her. So she drove her blade into my chest. The armor shrugged off most of her attack, when my arm moved of its own accord and I," Cullen sneered his gaze away, "I cut her down."

There was the true darkness of war. You could keep going, keep rising every day refreshed if you convinced yourself that the enemy on the other end wasn't a true person. They were deserving of death by dint of being a lesser creature. But then what? What life do you find when that darkness fades and you're supposed to return to your fields and market stalls? When all that beats in your heart is a certainty of who deserves life and who does not? Corypheus was mad not to think he could be a god but to even want that power.

Cullen's fingers dug deeper into the back of her hand, pinching against the skin. He gripped tight to his head too, as if trying to will away a headache. Circling her thumb in his palm, Lana asked, "What is it?"

"It is-"

"Cullen," she glared at him, knowing he was about to excuse it as nothing.

He gulped and hung his head, "I am exhausted more readily since, since ceasing the lyrium. It is trying to...to not, I wish I were stronger. That I was capable of..."

"You're the strongest man I know," Lana exclaimed. Despite the public spot, she reached across herself, twisting in her seat to cup her fingers above his knee. He didn't brighten from the touch, but his lips parted like a parched man taking that first cold sip.

"Not the strongest person?" he asked, batting away the discomfort from her noticing his pain.

Lana shrugged, "I know Hawke, so..."

Cullen chuckled, "That is a fair point. I would not want to tangle with her."

"I didn't want to draw attention to..to drag out your own fight against lyrium withdrawals," Lana started, her fingers back to fidgeting with her staff. "To throw off the chantry's yoke and free yourself- What you're doing is..." Her head collapsed into her chest and she moaned into it, "Losing yourself is terrifying to think upon."

"Why do you care?" he whispered back, the fervid voice causing Lana to sit up. His broken eyes hunted over hers, "Even back in the deep roads you seemed reviled by the idea of the lyrium. Why would a mage bother?"

"I didn't realize I wasn't supposed to..." Lana sucked in a breath and shook her head, trying to will away the anger in her words. She grew tired of explaining why a mage would do this, why a mage would do that. She couldn't speak for every mage. All she had was what she would do, what she felt. "You didn't grow up in the circle, not the way a mage does. I may not have been a templar, been involved in your day to day life, but I knew them. Watched them change over the years, have memories slip away, thoughts dissolve while speaking. Their minds foundered upon an internal sea while everything inside withered leaving only a shadow behind." Her fingers dug into the bench, trying to claw away the burn of anger and grief in her heart. Cullen fell silent. She felt his eyes watching over her, but she didn't face him.

"Lana, I..." he ran his hands up his face, distorting his scruff. "Maker's breath, I'm sorry for assuming, for...I don't know. This fight wears on me and I know I can find myself a touch-"

"Grouchy?" she threw out.

"I was going to say curt, but grouchy is probably more accurate," he placed his hand beside her and she scooped it up in her fingers. At first he stared at their entwined hands again, then he risked a glance at her. She wanted so badly to kiss him, to wrap her arms around him and whisper she understood. She knew what it was to go it alone even when surrounded by others who tried to help but never could. Instead, she circled around his fingers, gently curling hers around his leather glove.

"White and I," she whispered, the memory rising in her memory, "we talked on occasion about a way to try and cure lyrium addiction. To combat its ill effects. He..." she paused and licked her lips, struggling against her constricting larynx. "He more than hoped to free templars, he wanted to reverse the damage."

"Did he love her? His...that templar he, you know, became a blood mage for?"

Lana shook her head, "I don't think so, not the way you're thinking, not romantically. He was not that type of person. But he did love her. The way he spoke of her it was like the moon describing the sun. Someone you could never share a space with but who filled your entire sky. He said, before the illness took over, that she was starting to forget things. Little words here and there, simple names, where she'd placed her belongings." She didn't realize she'd started crying until she screwed her eyes up, the tears blurring her vision. Willing away the emotion in her voice, Lana asked him, "Have you begun to lose...?"

"I," Cullen shifted in his seat but he kept a hold of her hand, neither of them willing to let go. "I don't believe so. It's hard to tell, I... There are some memories I wish I couldn't recall, many at times, but," his fingers caressed the back of her hand and he smiled at her, "some I never want to lose." She grinned through the pain, grateful for their little reprieves, each moment together lightening her heart. Cullen's smile faltered and his eyes darted away, "Does, do you lose yourself from the taint? Will it act the same?"

Despite being in view of a chantry mother and Maker who knows else in the garden, Lana reached over and cupped Cullen's cheek. His eyes darted guiltily at the intimacy, but he didn't shake her off. Pushing his scruff back into place, Lana smiled at him, "No, mercifully. We keep our minds, and I...I have no intentions on ever forgetting you."

"I was worried for you," Cullen blurted out, his lips dancing close to her palm. "When word came that you'd tried to breach Adamant alone, and then seeing the marks on your neck, I..."

Lana's hand slipped away and she wrapped herself back into her blanket of shame. "I overreacted, under-thought. It was a mistake that I do not intend to repeat."

"Lana," he sighed, "you can talk to me. Please."

She knocked her teeth together, summoning away the walls built in her mind to protect herself, "I suppose you, I owe you..." Her fingers massaged her staff, running the length of it so quickly it was a wonder she didn't pry up a splinter. "The Wardens were my home, were the only place left that I thought an apostate was safe. But now... Clarel ordered my death, her Wardens didn't even blink. I, no, that isn't why. In the fight to escape I had to stab one, blind him. I killed a warden, another warden. Some delusional part of me thought that if I could save them, then I could overcome Nathaniel's loss. Every loss. Return to that commander they needed, find a home."

Slipping her hand out of Cullen's grip, her fingers dug under her shirt's collar and unearthed a string. Yanking it over her head, Lana revealed the pendant she'd worn for ten years - her covenant with the wardens. Despite the passage of time, the darkspawn blood still oozed inside the crystal; magic or perhaps its own taint kept it from clotting. Lana dropped it into her hand and closed her eyes shut. Tapping past the typical fires of the fade, she willed the hottest lava imaginable from her fingers into the crystal. The ichor bubbled as the heat melted and twisted the crystal. Slowly, the boiling darkspawn blood merged with the crystal itself turning the once clear pendant crimson-black. Lana yanked back on her magic, and she dangled the white hot necklace off her fingers so it'd cool.

It was a promise she made out of fear, out of naïveté, out of a need to belong. Despite all that, she honored it, carried it with her into every battle she could. She believed in stopping the blights, but in doing so she poured that same taint into innocent people's blood, turned them into wardens. And when they needed her to save them, to guide them away from Corypheus, she wasn't there. The wardens had no use for her and she had none for them.

Prodding the crystal with her pinkie, Lana sighed at the cool touch. She cupped it gently in her fingers and watched the dead promise. A crack broke the length of the quartz from her fast heating and cooling, but no darkspawn blood poured out. Every last drop merged with the crystal, bonded together for eternity.

"Whatever happens at the siege on Adamant, I cannot return to the wardens. I will do everything in my power to save them, but..." she closed her fingers over the pendant and passed it to Cullen, "it's time I gave up."

He accepted the black pendant and watched it in his own gloved hand. "You're giving this to me?"

"I am uncertain what to do with it. Maybe Dagna or any of your other researchers could do something with it. I...cannot look upon it anymore."

Cullen nodded and slipped her old pendant away in his pocket. He seemed uncertain about it, but once it was secure, he caught her drifting hand in his and held it tight. "Can you leave the wardens?"

She shrugged, "I'll always be tainted, but I don't think anyone in the order will try to track me down." Her head slipped down and she faced the far burning question inside her heart. "I am uncertain where I will go. Once when I was tired of it I imagined returning to the Circles. Finally becoming that Senior Enchanter I was supposed to be. But now..." She waved her empty hand out into the gardens towards a few of the handful of free mages without a tether to the world, apostates in all but name.

"You could," Cullen twisted uncomfortably in his seat, "remain with the Inquisition." His winsome, honeyed eyes stared at hers, before he coughed and fluffed up the back of his hair. "I mean, the other circle mages are here, and they'd certainly welcome your expertise in so many matters. If you, um, had any reason or want to stay. Here, I mean."

Maker, she nearly cracked in half from the awkward way he danced around the question he was too fearful to ask. She yearned to tell him everything he wanted to hear. That she'd gladly remain in Skyhold, put her all into helping to stop Corypheus and devote herself to whatever happened after. But, she knew Fiona would want no truck with her. The Grand Enchanter had asked less than politely if the Hero of Ferelden, a world respected mage, would back the rebellion. When Lana refused, despite perfectly good reasons the ex-Warden should have known, Fiona turned on her. They'd seen each other across the grounds around the hold, but the elf would always turn on her heel avoiding Lana with every available opportunity.

And after Adamant, after she displayed her true colors, the Inquisitor was unlikely to have anything to do with her. She was impressed the Commander wasn't sent to shoo her out of Skyhold after their meeting. Perhaps one of them convinced the Inquisitor she could still be useful, and then they'd cut her loose after the Warden army was defeated, or even keep her around for Corypheus. Either way, her life was nothing but a blank slate after and that terrified her.

Throwing on a fake smile, Lana patted Cullen's hand. "I will think upon it," she promised. "For now, I should find a warm mug of tea. It'll help with my throat."

"I can brew one up in my office," Cullen grinned, rising off the bench. Their hands still clasped, he helped her to rise, taking most of her weight. One day this was all going to bite her in the ass, but for now, there was now.


	19. Chapter 19

To Lana's surprise, the Inquisitor invited her to sit in on their meetings to plan Adamant's invasion. Over the course of a few days, she shared what she knew of the fortress, the fighting techniques of wardens, and anything else she thought would be helpful. The first time her stomach churned with the guilt still bubbling inside, but the elf only nodded appropriately and asked for the occasional clarification. Otherwise, he drew no attention to the mess she landed them all in. It seemed as if the best way for her to get on his good side was to colossally fuck up. Then again, perhaps it reminded him that she was far from this lauded hero out of legend. She was making it up as best as he, and often stumbled along the way.

When not providing research to the advisers, she enjoyed her free time with the commander. At first she passed it off as teaching his people how to defend from certain warden mage attacks most wouldn't see outside the deep roads. And then to spend a few hours after that alone together in his loft discussing techniques wasn't beyond the pale. It wasn't until she was trying to think of an excuse to weasel out of Hawke's bar crawl (which involved crawling to every table in the lone tavern and having to take a shot), that Lana realized she had no reason to lie. Admitting she intended to bed Cullen got her a thumbs up before Hawke ran out the door herself. Even while preparing for war, life seemed gentler than she thought possible, as long as she ignored the screams from her throat waking her in the middle of the night or the whispers gaining traction in the back of her mind.

Day five of preparing and they were almost ready to move on Adamant. Josephine had sent letters to every ally the Inquisitor built up in his time, and Leliana planted a few choice spies near the warden ranks thanks to Lana's intel.

"How many are we looking at inside?" the Inquisitor asked, his palms splayed out across the map. Parchment covered every inch, most written in a code that was then translated below in Leliana's neat hand.

"They can't get me an exact number," the Spymaster answered. She lifted up her wine glass and took a sip, rattling the other's empty glasses. The day grew long, sunlight fracturing through the orange leaves outside the window. Hours were lost scrutinizing the translated reports, everyone on edge as their time to march grew closer.

"It is a wonder you got anyone in at all," the Inquisitor spoke, then he turned to Lana.

She shrugged, "Wardens have always relied upon support outside our ranks. If everyone who worked for us risked the joining we'd be broken before we began." Lana fiddled with the scarf knotted around her neck. A loan from Leliana, it was to hide away the bruises and keep her from any unwanted questions. It also made her feel like a right pillock for even needing it, but the sentiment was kind.

"How much more can they get to us?" Cullen asked. He stood across from her, his eyes hunting across the map as if he could spot Corypheus hiding away in thedas. But on occasion he'd break from his duty and softly smile at her. Even the spine of steel could melt.

"That I cannot say," Leliana answered. "We get at best one raven from each of them. Any more and they risk revealing themselves."

Lana shook her head and swiped through the piles of vellum. "They won't get near Clarel regardless. Anyone new's put through..."

"A gauntlet of trials?" Josephine asked, her punctuated eyes darting to their warden.

"The whipping kind, or the tickle and fun one? Unless you like both, I guess," Hawke spoke up. No one questioned why the Champion was there. Even though she had little to add to the conversations, she was welcome. Distracting, but in that entertaining Hawke way.

"No," Lana sighed, massaging her temples, "I was going to say that there's a hierarchy. Reaching to the top requires years of service, a devotion that's rewarded with more trust. Which also means you're privy to more warden secrets."

"Such as..." the Inquisitor began.

Lana shrugged, "The void if I know. When I began the only warden secrets I knew involved darkspawn blood, how to kill an archdemon, and an insatiable hunger at the strangest of times. After Loghain destroyed the Wardens in Ferelden, what secrets or documents they had vanished either into fires or were sold off for his war. Whatever Clarel's sitting on could be...I wish I knew more."

"Understood," the Inquisitor said curtly, but his steel eyes sympathized for a moment. He accepted her answer for what it was, the truth.

Josephine jotted a few lines down, then she paused her quill. "How do you kill an archdemon anyway?"

Blinking rapidly from the question, Lana shuffled the parchment back into a random order. It was Hawke who spoke up. "With a big sword!" Every eye in the room spun to her and a collective groan broke. "With two swords? Three? Am I getting close?"

Blaring as if beyond Skyhold, a noise rattled against the walls, but it was just on the cusp of hearing. Every battle hardened person twisted their head around trying to make sense of it, but it was the diplomat who spoke up, "Was that a horn?"

As if in response to Josephine's question, the door to the war room flew open and a dwarven soldier of the Inquisition stepped inside. A few 'begging your pardons' and 'please forgive me's' slipped from her mouth when a man stepped in behind her. He blanched at the faux pas of breaking into a meeting and tried to slip away, but then those sparkling blue eyes caught sight of Lana.

"Teagan!" she cried. Age came for him leaving wear lines down his cheeks and a white to almost clear streak in his red hair, but he lit up from her smile, the man she met in Redcliffe's chantry returning. With eyes upon her, he stepped around the dwarf. Without any pretense, Lana clapped her arms around him for a friendly hug.

"My lady," he responded, that warm grin of his lighting his cheeks as he patted her on the back.

"You are the only one I let get away with that, you know," Lana snickered, slipping away from the hug. "Maker's breath, how are you? Redcliffe, I heard about..."

"Ah," he gritted his teeth and gazed down. "Yes, the mage situation. Things are returning to normal in the village. Murdock yet asks of you." Lana shook her head at the mayor's mention. The last time they met he proceeded to drink the tiny mage under the table, then later insisted she in fact won despite her raging headache and empty stomach. "And," Teagan glanced over at the Inquisitor, "we are grateful for your assistance in the matter, even if..."

"We understand, Arl Teagan," the Inquisitor spoke tipping his head.

Lana rolled her shoulders from the politics vibrating in the air. It was one thing to play the "I am so thankful for you daring to deign me attention" game, but this was Teagan. If there was any Arl or Bann in thedas she could speak candidly with, it was him. Catching his attention, she asked the question everyone wanted to pose, "What brings you here?"

The smile in his eyes evaporated as he turned to Lana, guilt stretching back his cheeks. She shook her head, struggling to understand how Teagen could possibly harm her when she felt him. Most wardens registered as little more than a lighter version of darkspawn that awakened the taint in her blood. Maybe it was the fact they were the only two wardens for over a year, or because she took in the taint when he was around, but she knew that twinge prickling up her neck hair. Knew it more intimately than the back of her hand.

Before she could speak a word, the door opened wider behind Teagan and the last person she ever wanted to see stepped back into her life. "Hey, sorry about the horn. New guy, he's really excited about blowing it every chance he has. Might have spooked a few of those giant nug things you have. Where did you get 'em, anyway? Catalog?" Alistair. A year did little to change him. Perhaps a bit more of life clung to the side of his eyes and around his midsection, but he still sparkled with an orneriness she once found charming. Lana slid backwards away from him, a sneer gnarling up her face.

"King Alistair!" Josephine shrieked. Every plan she had for the day was thrown completely out the window by this surprise. The diplomat rounded through her records, as if she could find any mention of his visit. But he was unaware of the drama he just caused her - either didn't care or most likely was beyond it. His amused eyes dipped through the crowd.

Leliana bowed her head, the Inquisitor did the same. Hawke snickered and waved madly as if he couldn't see her towering in the back. Only Cullen saluted, his fist colliding into his chest, "Your highness." Lana almost jumped from how loud his words rang out. She didn't realize she'd nearly backed into him to try and escape.

"You can call me Alistair. Please. Highness sounds like I should be walking around on stilts. Which I did try once despite everyone insisting I'd break something. But the stables are all fixed now." Alistair ruffled up his hair while Teagan rolled his eyes. It seemed the king wasn't exaggerating.

"My...uh, King, or," Josephine struggled with a way to obey his wishes while also maintaining the respect he was nobly due. "I did not have any mention of your arrival and I wonder if-"

"What are you doing here?!" Lana spat, the knot upon her tongue falling free. Her body tightened like a drawn string about to loose a rain of arrows upon him.

He grinned wide, but she knew that false smile, the one he slapped on when someone bit deep into him. A massive grin so he wouldn't let on to the injury. "It's a funny thing. See, my uncle here. That'd be Teagan, for those who don't know him. He gets a letter from the Inquisition asking for some trebuchets and anything else we can lend to the cause. All well in good, I know how that whole building an army from nothing goes. But then down at the bottom there's a note mentioning how you have the great and mighty Hero of Ferelden serving on your side. And I found myself wondering what is it that's got the Inquisition snapping up not just the free mages but our own home grown one as well."

Crossing her arms across her chest, Lana instinctively cracked into the fade, almost casting a barrier around herself. Cullen's fingers glancing across her back broke the spell, but she continued to glower at the king waving this letter around as proof he belonged here. The Inquisitor read through it, his fingernail digging against the official wax seal. "Who would have sent this?"

"I am afraid it was me," Josephine admitted, her eyes cast down but confusion knotting up her brow.

"Oh Josie," Leliana sighed.

"It seemed prudent. If we wished Ferelden's investment then they should be aware their own was working with us for a common goal. What? What have I missed?" she jabbed at the air with her quill, demanding an answer to a misstep she didn't understand. Leliana leaned towards her and whispered in her ear. Despite trying to maintain the secrecy, everyone in the room had to know what was up from the way the Spymaster pointed first at Lana, then the king.

After Leliana slipped away, Josephine panicked, her fingers rifling through her papers hoping she could find an answer to this mess stashed away inside. "Oh dear, Andraste's... I didn't realize. This is..."

Lana stepped away from them all, her vision winnowing down to a tunnel until all she could see was the man who broke her. Despite towering above her, Alistair shrank from her glare and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "You shouldn't be here," she spat at him.

"I'd say that's for me to decide," he came back with, and Lana blinked from the teeth.

"Leave us," she ordered. Then she groaned realizing her mistake. Sheepishly turning back to the real power, she added a "please."

The Inquisitor's eyes sliced through her, but he only tipped his head and accepted her word. "Very well." Josephine continued to panic, attempting to fix her mistake any way possible, but the Inquisitor showed her a mercy, "How about you guide Arl Teagan around, madam ambassador? I believe your nephew, your other nephew, is studying in the library at the moment."

"Yes, it would be wonderful to see Conner again," Teagan said. Josephine gestured away from the rising tension snapping in the air out the door. Before Teagan followed, he shot a solitary pitying glance in Lana's direction. She nearly missed it, the anger burning away her peripheral vision. Slowly the others filtered out. Cullen paused for only a moment, his eyes trying to ask Lana a question, but she was too busy glaring at the intruder to respond. Neither Lana nor Alistair moved an inch nor spoke a word until the door shut behind them.

Even still, she waited, watching him pick at his fingers and shrug under the padded splint mail. Why he was in that and not the official Ferelden armor was... And why was she even wondering?

"Why are you here?" she finally spoke, the venom softer but her bite no less powerful.

Alistair's head whipped up at her, a guilt in his eye, "I thought we already went over that. Letter from your...was she Antivan? Maker, don't tell me she's a crow too."

Lana crossed her arms deeper across her chest and glowered.

"Fine," he sighed, "I was worried. A year, no word, no letters, not even an assassin or two so I know you care. Nothing, you just up and vanish. So do all the other wardens in the Vigil leaving me with a whole lot of fun questions at court to answer. I thought you were...working through some things."

Lana snorted at the insinuation in his voice, as if he played no part in those things.

"But when even Leliana had no idea where you were I got concerned. Scared. Tried to have people look into it, though that went nowhere. Then you pop up here with this little heretical group stowing away in the mountains. I had to know if you were okay," his head swung down and he knocked his hands together in a nervous energy.

"For fuck's sake, Alistair. What gives you the right to care?"

He shrugged, "You are technically my citizen."

"I am a grey warden, which makes me no one's citizen. As you damn well know," she hissed while kneading her fingers against her forehead. His downtrodden eyes whimpered against a dampened frown, the overall effect making her wish to slap it all off him. "Do not act as if I am punishing you. It was your choice. It's always been your choice, never mine."

"Lanny," he sighed, finally facing her down. He bore the same eyes after they found the missing king. Not the romanticized version in the fade, but the shattered, gaunt, withered body drained of nearly all life. Their last hope snatched away before they even began. The raw pain broken inside of Alistair was almost enough to catch her. "I know it went badly. I, as you eloquently put it, 'fucked up the only good thing in my life.'"

She rolled her eyes at her hubris. In her defense she'd been beyond reproach at the time, nearly spitting fire in anger. Still, it wasn't the truth. He had much to return to: a throne, a family. All she had was an empty Keep and a broken future.

"I'm not here for...that," Alistair continued. "To try and, Andraste, you more than balled me out. I had pirates, honest to the Maker pirates, patting me on the back and offering a tattooed shoulder to cry on. You scared them that badly."

"Get to the point, Alistair," she sighed, wishing she didn't have to be here anymore.

"I wanna know why you're going to attack wardens. No political bullshit, no prancing around it with frilly ribbons and big words. Just the truth."

Lana threw down her shoulders and glared into his face. "Because they're creating a demon army."

"Shit. Really?" His eyes widened in shock. The man who still trusted the wardens, viewed them as the good guys, whipped his head around in disbelief. She sneered but nodded her head. "Why?"

Tapping her head, Lana sighed, "I assume you hear it as well." He grimaced, his fingers gripping so tight together his knuckles whitened from the strain. "So is every single warden in Orlais, Ferelden, perhaps all of thedas for all I know. It's spooked them into thinking they're all going to die. And Clarel has dreams of ending all the blights before that. She intends to play with blood magic to do it, to create a demon army to destroy the Old Gods."

That drew a sneer to his face. He may have never fully taken the vows, but a thread of the templar yet remained inside. Alistair shook his head from the mention of blood magic. "Why is slitting the throat, full malifecarum always the first bar everyone grabs for? What happened to diplomacy? Or baring that, dropping a great big rock on their heads?"

Lana twisted away from him, her back banging against the war table. It shuddered from her and the little fort placed to mark Denerim tipped over. She reached to put it back up, but paused. She'd done enough already for it, for them, for him. "You need to leave," she whispered. He yanked his hands from his eyes and shook his head, some smartass remark building in his head. Lana interceded, her voice returning to the sweet worry of old, the one she used on him before he broke her heart. "For the Maker's sake, Alistair. Whatever Corypheus, or his tevinter blood mage is doing, the taint is...get as far away from it as you can. Please."

"And what about you?" Alistair jabbed a finger in the air like he held his sword in his hand.

"What about me?"

"You think I'm going to let you remain in his path?"

Lana reared back. "Let? You'd let me?!"

"Poor choice of words, but you know what I mean. I..."

"No," she snapped her head in a vehement disagreement, "No, I don't know what you mean. I don't know why you think you'd have any standing to walk in here and pull me away from what little I have left in this world. Again!"

The air thickened from her last word ringing through the small room, echoing against the window panes, and knocking about their hearts. Alistair sagged away from her thundering rage, his hands digging into his pockets as if he expected to find an answer inside of them. He drug his foot along the floor, his head dangling in regret as he watched it knock up a loose stone. She almost told him to stop breaking the floor.

"Lanny," he spoke up, his voice whispered out of his nose. She uncrossed her arms and stared at him, her face blank. Whatever he had to say couldn't reach her heart anymore, she'd buried it long ago. His pleading puppy eyes rounded up to hers and he asked, "Why were you in the deep roads alone?"

Lana stumbled back as if he struck her. How did he even...? Why would he...? Her mouth worked through every question she wanted to ask to shield her from the truth dangling over her head. If Alistair noticed her struggling to find her footing, he plowed past it.

"They," he jerked his head to the door in the wake of the others, "wouldn't know, probably think grey wardens head into the deep roads all by their lonesome for fun. But you can't fool me. Well, not about that."

She crossed her arms tighter across her chest, her fingers digging into her skin to ground herself. Hawke never asked, never wondered what she was doing surrounded by darkspawn without another warden in sight. If Anders knew, he didn't say anything. He seemed unable to care beyond his own nose. "I..." she whispered, her own foot knocking into the loose stone, "it was, I did what..."

Alistair gritted his teeth as if he had to swallow something bitter. Maybe for the first time in his life he did. He thought, always believed that if he did the right thing somehow the world would work to his advantage. There would be pain, there would be loss, but it would come out better. Lana learned the truth of it ages ago, that life wasn't a balance sheet and fair was a fairy tale. It was a shame it took the King of Ferelden this long to catch up. "You took the Calling," he sighed, his words damning her for her own weakness. For her inability to rise again from ashes, to be the hero everyone expected. How dare she not posses a will of steel in the face of any adversity? How dare she be human.

The old fire rose inside her, the kind only he could kindle. "Yes, I did. And you stand there in judgement of me, acting as if you are above it all. Beyond it. Can't feel it. No longer a warden, free to decide what is and isn't best for me. As if you aren't touched by anything anymore!"

"It's not your time," he shouted, his eyes flaring alive.

"That's not for you to decide!" she screamed back, rising up to face him dead on. "All you've ever done is decide my life for me. You were so certain you could take some noble high road and end things for my sake, to make it easier. Well look at how easy it is now!" Lana circled in front of him like a warship hunting for an opening.

"I thought you deserved better than being some sidepiece," he snarled back. "You do deserve better."

"What better, Alistair? What do I have in my life? The keep is lost, the wardens are consorting with demons, and you... What you did was unforgivable."

"I know," he sighed, crumpling from her accusations, "I shouldn't have started it up, shouldn't have encouraged..."

"Andraste's ass, you still don't get it."

"Get what? What am I missing, Lanny? Sorry, Lady Amell. You know what had to happen, what I had to do to take this damn crown, as if I wanted anything to do with it. I did what I thought was best for both of us, for you, so you could go on and find something, someone... You shouldn't be thought of as just a king's mistress."

Lana threw her head back and laughed, the tears streaming down her cheeks. As she gulped for air, her laugh merged into a gut wrenching sob, "You cut me loose so I could have the happy life, is that it? Settle down with someone of my choosing far away from all the politics and scheming? Tell me Alistair, what man would love a tainted grey warden? For the Maker's sake, what man would marry a mage?"

"I would if I weren't King!" he shouted back at her.

But Lana only snorted at that, "And weren't already married."

"Yeah, there is that bit too," he wiggled a pinkie in his ear as if that was only a minor problem. It took him a few years to finally pick a wife, despite Eamon all but dragging him to the altar right after his coronation. The woman he chose was nice and mercifully not too ambitious so she was unlikely to stab him in the night. Her main trait was nice with an overall blandness that in the face of his inopportune jokes would blink for a moment and then go about her day. It was the best he could hope for.

Lana shuddered from the weight of her sins. The murder, the magic, the calculated costs she could all bear in the name of the wardens but this one was her own damn doing. "I know you and the Queen have an 'understanding,' as you put it. I'd even believe it because I hope for the poor woman's sake she has someone else to warm her bed."

"Ouch, just ouch. You do go right for the throat, don't you?" Alistair interrupted.

"But..." Lana shook her head, trying to banish away all the emotion broiling below her skin. She slipped into Alistair's face and glared into his eyes, "your damn consort is a mage."

She watched the _Oh shit!_ dawn across his face as his lips gawped like a fish out of water. Yes, she'd known of her, known even while they were being tossed across the Waking Sea in Isabela's ship. Even when she'd abandoned all common sense and bedded him as if his perceived future was a workable option. Her hope had blinded her to the truth.

Sliding away from Alistair, Lana grabbed onto the brass handle for the door. She yanked it open and spotted nearly every member of the advisers save Josephine standing outside trying to act as if they weren't listening in. Their guilty faces didn't even reach her, she was too far gone to see them. Turning back to Alistair, Lana said, "For the Maker's sake, do what's right. Give the Inquisition whatever they're asking for to stop Corypheus and stay out of my life forever."

Before anyone could respond, Lana stomped away from him for the last time.

* * *

Ice wrapped around the apple, the force of the spell knocking it higher into the air. Lana steadied her hand and launched a fire spell at it instead, melting the ice and bouncing the fruit back up into the ether. She'd been doing that for hours off the battlements, first ice, then heat, forever knocking an apple up against the inevitable fall. A few soldiers walked near her, wondering what the mad mage was up to, but none got too close once they saw who it was. Her reputation continued to precede her. The winds of Skyhold were blissful, only a light breeze altering her apple's course as it tried to trek over the walls, but Lana was ready for it. Rolling her arm underhand, she caught it with a fireball, knocking the fruit up. But her rebound ice caused the apple to wobble, its trajectory launching back towards the keep and the battlements below.

A hand lanced up and snatched the errant fruit out of the air. Cullen weighed the apple in his palms, the ice melting into his glove. Lana blinked at him, surprised but not that he'd come to find her. Then she yanked another apple from the bushel at her feet. She launched it into the air and began again.

"I forgot mages would do this," he said.

"Best way to practice channeling mana," Lana responded, her eyes on the prize. "I heard of one mage that found the perfect balance within himself. He could do it for hours - ice spell, fire, the ball barely dropped an inch." Her own spell lanced perpendicular across the apple's skin sending her target skittering off the keep's walls. It bounced against the rocks below, splattering next to a dozen of its brethren. "As you can see, that isn't me."

She reached for another when Cullen spoke up, "His... the king has left Skyhold. Volunteered what we needed to take Adamant and then insisted he needed to return to Ferelden before someone 'burned the place down.'"

The rotten apple scattered from her fingers, returning to the rest of its spoiled bushel. Lana glared at the crags below where she attempted to inefficiently make messy applesauce. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Ah...most of it," Cullen admitted. His fingers pushed into the skin of the apple, easily bruising it after her magical maltreatments.

"Good," Lana crashed against the wall of the battlements and stared across the horizon. "It keeps me from having to repeat myself."

Cullen slipped beside her, not close enough to touch but within her personal bubble. When she'd left them all to deal with Alistair, she had no idea how he'd react to any of that. They'd barely grown been beyond the first blush stage of whatever this was. To see how he'd stand up to her past with a king was beyond her guess. Not many had to worry about that level of royal romantic history.

She rotated her fingers against the clouds, framing them as if she was about to cast a glyph over their cottony surface. "Seheron, where I was before returning to the Vigil, before finding it empty...it was a mission at his behest. What I'm going to tell you is, it's a secret. One of those national secrets I probably shouldn't share but, damn it, I don't care." Cullen's head gently nodded, he was prepared to accept it and she knew he would keep it safe.

"I didn't know what Alistair was up to at the time, only that he needed help breaking into an Antivan Crow prison. Maker, that man... There was a reason he was never in charge of planning things during the blight. Halfway through that mission, while neck deep in Crows, we learn that he drug us across thedas because," she sighed to steady herself, "he was going to find his father."

"His father? King Maric?" Cullen stuttered.

Of course, he'd have grown up with the tales of the great King Maric who wrested his birthright out of Orlesian hands. Cullen was a born and bred Ferelden boy. She knew of the king and his story from a few whispers among the senior enchanters, but he was as vague as Mafarath for Lana. Even knowing Alistair, having met Cailin, executed Loghain, the great king remained a distant star to her.

"It seemed there was some deal struck to bring Maric to Antiva. Witches and...it doesn't matter. Alistair and I, we'd been friends to that point. It wasn't an easy road after his idiotic decision post-Landsmeet, but I don't know. Maybe I wanted to believe I could move past all the awkwardness, trust that there was still good in him. No," Lana shook her head, blotting away her security blanket, "I'm lying to myself again."

She kicked her heel against the shattered wall behind her, the edge of her boot knocking thrice as she drug it down the cracks. "For a time I tried to be a warden, the warden, the warden everyone wanted. But I...Maker, I couldn't. I wasn't that woman. To cast a disinterested eye upon my people, to doom those to the same taint; it ate me up inside. And yet, that was my promise - in exchange for my life, I was theirs. I tried other avenues to serve but not; research, finding ways to ease the blight itself. Perhaps cure it."

"White," Cullen whispered the name of the blood mage that temporarily brought them together.

Lana snickered at herself, "That failure reined me back in. I returned to the warden life, such as it was. Led parties through the deep roads, increased recruitment, waited upon the arling's throne for my own doom. And all the while my soul drifted. I even thought of returning to the circles." She rolled her eyes at Cullen, "You can guess what killed that idea dead."

"You were without a purpose," he whispered, the words clawing up his throat.

"Exactly. Then here comes an old love stepping back into my life, the one that got away. That old cliché. And he's talking about how if we find Maric we can reset everything that happened. Ignore the past ten years, put the rightful king on the throne and the two of us will... I don't know. Travel the world, take down bandits, right wrongs, maybe go pirate ourselves. He offered me an out, a freedom no one else had and I foolishly fell for it."

Cullen grabbed onto her hand, his gloves still cold from her ice, but she smiled through the bite. Her own thumb ran across his palm, trailing the glove's seams as if they were a river. "I'm guessing you did not find King Maric."

"Actually, we did, but..." Lana gulped from the macabre memory of what was left of the man. "He was drained for nearly twenty years by a batshit tevinter Magister...as if there are any other kind. After decades of torture, that level of stress placed upon the body, only a husk remained behind. The kind thing to do was to end his suffering. I knew it killed Alistair to do it, he'd put every last hope he had into finding his father. He, he always wanted a family. Losing that last hope was..."

She snapped her head, an anger welling up in her words. "I tried to help, to remind him that there were still options in this world. But why would he listen to me? Why would he care? And to have him turn around and do the same damn thing he did ten years ago."

Lana snatched up an apple from the bushel, poured all the fire she had inside of her into it, and launched it into the air. Smoke trailed the red plumes lancing off the burning apple flesh as it dashed across the bright blue sky into the snowy brink below. "He acted like he was protecting me, but I knew he was protecting his damn self. No one in their right mind wants a mage."

She reached for another apple, but Cullen caught her hand, his own apple plopping to the ground. Holding both, he knotted his fingers around hers while those amber eyes burned through her. He couldn't speak whatever was rolling through his brain, perhaps too many thoughts were crowding it out. She knew the feeling.

"So," she picked back up her tale as if speaking of another person entirely, "heartbroken, I accepted my fate and returned to my wardens. The rest you know."

Cullen's lips opened a few times, his mouth trying out the words so he could get them perfect. She shied away, trying to bury the fear itching along her skin. "Lana," he finally broke through the air, "What's the calling?"

Maker... Her eyes screwed up tight and she shook her head. No, out of everything in her life gone wrong, she couldn't tell him about that. Couldn't face him ever again if he knew.

"I thought it was the voice in your head, from the darkspawn, but the way you spoke of it. Screamed of it..."

The shameful tears burned behind her eyes, guilt ruddying up her cheeks and she glared at the floor. "It was... I." As if someone cut her strings, Lana plummeted to her knees. She didn't release her grip on Cullen, nor he on her, but he struggled to follow her fall. Pain jarred up her legs from her knees striking stone, but Lana shook it off like all the other injuries. "What did I have left?" she moaned through the tears, "No circles, no Alistair, no wardens. I had nothing to give. No reason to... And the voice, whispering in my thoughts. It could only mean, I had to..." She pawed at her nose, trying to wipe away the snot and her tears. Silence fell as she struggled to speak through the turmoil in her heart. In a broken voice, she explained, "Wardens don't die from the taint, we become corrupted. So, when our time comes, we take the Calling. We head into the deep roads alone and kill as many darkspawn as we can before we are, in turn, killed."

"Sweet Andraste," Cullen whispered. His fingers dug tighter into hers and he glanced away, not wanting her to see the emotion pouring off his face.

"I did it, I did the one thing you're never supposed to do. What no soldier must ever do. I gave up," Lana's lip wobbled despite her dead tone. The tears hazed up her vision, but she didn't have the strength to cry them. Her body was drained of nearly all life, her muscles falling slack until her head collapsed into her lap. "If it weren't for Hawke, I'd... Maker's breath, I was in that hole for two weeks and still I wouldn't die. Couldn't die. Refused to... I failed at that too."

"No," Cullen dropped to his knees now, his armor clanging from the plummet. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling his chest into her bent head. "You fought with that spark in you, to keep going, to... You're still here."

"Still here," she repeated, her soul dead. "And nothing's changed. No circles, no...wardens. All I can do is try and stifle the voice, one way or another."

"I'm here," Cullen whispered. "Leliana. Hawke, as infuriating as she can be. You're not alone, I..."

Her fingers lifted from her lap to run across his face. It wasn't the most coordinated attempt as she accidentally brushed up his nose, but he caught her hand and pinned it tight to his cheek. "It's okay," Lana whispered, "I'm past it. It was a year ago and I've moved on."

Cullen's eyes hunted across her as she lifted her head back and tried to force a smile. Was it true? A part of her thought it was, needed to believe it was. Otherwise, she shouldn't be let anywhere near a battlefield. A suicidal mage was a danger to everyone. The dark thoughts were there, had always been, but he was right, the people in her life kept her tethered here away from the void.

"I didn't want you to know because, because it was one more failure. More proof I'm not strong enough to..."

"Maker's breath, Lana. You don't need to always be strong."

"Neither do you," she volleyed back. He blinked rapidly from her change of topic, but didn't stammer to slide away from it.

"I...will try to remember that. It isn't easy when-"

She rose up from her lean and placed both hands around his jaw. Tenderly, Lana brought his forehead to hers. So close now she noticed the few tears streaking down his cheeks. "You're not alone either," she whispered.

Cullen exhaled, his arms locking around her back and he pulled her even tighter against his skin. They pressed together as if clutching to the only flotsam left floating in the midst of a storm. After a time, a small quirk of a smile twisted around Cullen's lips. "I am no longer with the templars," he stated the obvious. Lana broke away to stare into his eyes, confused by the change. "And you are no longer with the wardens."

"Oh," she shook her head, remembering her parting words to him what felt another lifetime ago. It'd been her way to put a pin in whatever they had, to let it be what it was and not wish for more. And yet... he was right. The very thing she thought would never come to pass did. "But, your heart is with the Inquisition now." Cullen's eyes narrowed for a moment as he watched her fall further away from him. For the first time since trudging up the battlements, Lana shook from the cold. "Duty is your life, I couldn't, wouldn't impede again..."

He sprung forward, his hands slipping tighter around her. "Do you know why I accepted the position of commander?" Lana shook her head, she'd assumed he needed it to get away from the templars. Perhaps to free himself from Kirkwall. "After six years of losing myself to Meredith's madness, I couldn't entrust myself to someone like that again. Someone I didn't know, that could easily twist me back into a...what I never wish to be."

"But you didn't know the Inquisitor before the Temple of Sacred Ashes," Lana pointed out, her eyes darting to the side in confusion.

"When Cassandra approached me, asked me to lead this army, I refused. I feared what that would turn me into. Until..." Cullen's eyes drifted down to their conjoined hands, watching her fingers slip against his gloves. "Until she told me that they'd tapped you to lead the Inquisition."

Lana gasped, a choke catching in her tender throat.

"I had no idea what your thoughts would be on Kirkwall, on the rebellion. I feared you would hate me for the part I played but I knew I could trust you. That I needed to help you, serve you, give you whatever you needed. The Inquisition may have my arm, but you've always had my heart," he pressed his forehead against her, his eyes slipping shut. In a wistful voice sweeter than the breeze, he whispered, "Lana, I-I love you."

Oh no... She knew it, she'd known it for far longer than she ever admitted to herself. She'd chased it from his lips every time she feared he'd let it slip with a kiss or a distraction. She thought if she could buy more time then maybe she wouldn't have to hurt him.

As more awkward silence piled up between them with Lana not returning the sentiment, Cullen's hopeful smile faded to dejection. "I see..." he whispered, trying to pull his hands away from hers, his entire body shrinking in on itself.

"Cullen, wait," she gripped tighter, shaking her head to knock away her tears of regret. "I care about you. You're so much more than what I'd, I...you've been on my thoughts for, in the back of my mind as I..." Her head dropped down and she gulped at the air, wishing she could explain it. "My heart's shattered, broken from Alistair, from my wardens, so many losses I... I could love you with the pieces, but I want to be more, to give you more, to love you with the whole thing." She bit down on her tongue, trying to summon the words to damn her, "But that will take time. Time to mourn, to repair it and move past the heartache." Her head rose and she stared mournfully into those soft amber eyes. "I couldn't ask you to wait. It wouldn't be fair to-"

"Maker's breath," Cullen yanked her tight, his lips pressing against her forehead, "Is that all? I've waited ten years for you, a bit longer will not kill me."

A braying laugh shattered through Lana's throat, dragging the last of her tears with it. Beyond flabbergasted, she'd never expected this reaction, never thought that he'd understand, forgive her for not being ready. Her slack arms dug under his surcoat and knotted behind his back, pulling herself deeper into him. His metal armor bit into her chest, but she didn't care, the pain knocking another laugh from her throat.

"How did I ever...? I keep expecting I'll wake up, discover this was all some trick of the fade," Lana mused.

Cullen snickered, his lips pressing into the top of her head. She broke from her tight hug and took his hopeful lips in a kiss. Returning with as much fervor, Cullen's hands curled up to caress her cheek, pulling her deeper into the kiss. As she slipped away from him, Lana sighed, "You don't taste like the fade."

"I love you," he whispered again, his eyes brimming with a salty joy. Lana swallowed, guilt rising up her stomach, but he shook his head, "It's all right. I...you don't need to return it. I, take all the time you need. Please. Don't feel afraid, don't need to shut me out. I," Cullen twisted his head down, a bittersweet smile breaking his cheeks, "I fear I wasted so much time never telling you the truth, and I don't want to do that anymore."

Nodding, Lana brushed her fingers across his cheek, "Then tell me it any moment it crosses your thoughts. And, in time, I hope to return the favor."

"I trust you will," Cullen whispered. Upon the battlements of Skyhold, kissing this man who loved her beyond reason, Lana felt another piece of her heart slot back into place. After Adamant, she'd find the time, make the time to fix it all.


	20. Chapter 20

Lana glared through the rift splitting open the veil, the unnerving power of it felt as if something reached into the back of her head and yanked everything forward. It undulated just beyond their reach, the promise of Adamant's dark skies visible through the crack even from the distance. Terror demons lay in pieces at their feet, the final vestiges the fade dared to throw at them. They were finally free to get away from this nightmare and return to the real world, except for one small problem.

"How are we supposed to get past that?!" Hawke shouted. Her breathing caught as she tipped her head back to cut off a nosebleed. Above them towered the demon the Wardens tried to bring into the world, the creature that stirred the calling up inside all of their minds and drove them to madness. The reason Clarel finally saw through far too late.

The Inquisitor watched his people climbing up the hill towards the rift back to the real world. Cassandra had a grip upon Varric to hoist him up, while Dorian turned back for a moment his haunted eyes slipping over the last three left behind. The nightmare had no interest in them, only in the ones remaining cut off from freedom. A twinge ratcheted up Lana's side and she reached under her robes to massage it away. It must have happened when she flung herself in the path of a Pride demon's lightning whip. Dorian was stunned, too far away from anyone else to help, so Lana leapt in front, summoning a forcefield as quick as possible. Only the end of the whip snapped against her stomach, the rest ricocheting off her spell.

"One of us has to..." the Inquisitor gulped. The anchor embedded in his hand, the reason they walked in the fade to begin with, flared awake. "To distract it."

"It should be me!" Hawke shouted again. This wasn't her usual spunky response prepared to take on the world without a thought for her own well being. Something in the nightmare scraped away at her revealing the wounded warrior hidden below - the one she boisterously shouted over to keep anyone from ever finding. "Corypheus wouldn't even be here if I had finished the damn job."

Lana gripped tighter to her stomach and pain burst behind her eyes. Wetness clung to her fingers as she flexed them into the wound, the blood dribbling so fast it soaked through her thin gloves. She gritted her teeth trying to heal it, but her mana was low and the nightmare knocked around in her head. The spell slipped thrice through her fingers, and even then, she was uncertain if...

"I'll do it," Lana whispered. Her free hand gripped onto Hawke's arm, drawing her attention.

"Like hell you will," her cousin screamed, the voice snarling at Lana for even implying she couldn't get the job done. "The wardens are gonna need you to fix all the shit they broke. Which was a lot, by the way."

"No," Lana twisted her head, a small laugh rumbling in the back of her throat. All of this, every step through Adamant she strived to save the wardens from themselves, to prove they deserved it. Then to discover Corypheus didn't need a darkspawn army because he had wardens the whole time... She couldn't face her own people and they wouldn't listen to her. Lana was the warden who should not have survived, they'd never follow. "It should be you. They'll have to listen to the Champion of Kirkwall."

Hawke snorted, her shoulders poised as if she intended to rip the nightmare in half with her bare hands. The Champion herself snarled up at the demon moving at a glacial speed towards the rift, her bluster almost palpable. Then a foreign sheepishness crawled across her face. Her own past haunted her eyes as she broke her warrior's stance and whispered, "It should be me. I've got the big sword."

"And I've got the big stick," Lana laughed. Maker, in those first few days traveling the deep roads with that rowdy, rambunctious, infuriating woman she never thought she'd come to care so much for her. To find in her a family Hawke was so damn insistent upon. She wasn't about to let that last connection break now. "Go, just...you need to be there. To keep the Wardens in check, to keep them safe." Lana inched closer to her cousin and whispered, "To keep Anders safe."

That was enough. Hawke's body collapsed, her muscles falling slack as she crumbled from the mention of her abomination. Maker only knew what he'd do, what Justice would do if word of Hawke's falling reached him. The man dangled upon a spiderweb thin thread already. Hawke gripped tight to Lana's arm, almost pulling her in for a hug, "Cuz, I..."

"We don't have much time," the Inquisitor exclaimed extending his finger towards the nightmare demon making a move for the rift.

Lana nodded her head, certainty filling her brain. Many questioned what kept her alive after the archdemon fell, and, despite knowing the how, she also often wondered the why. Perhaps this was it. She shook Hawke's hand one last time, and smiled, "It was good knowing you, cousin."

"You too," Hawke answered back, her trademark smile completely erased.

Slipping away, Lana paused before facing her end. One thought danced in her mind. Turning to Hawke, her willing sacrifice facade shattered and in a broken voice she whispered, "Tell Cullen I'm sorry."

The Inquisitor glanced around confused, but Hawke nodded her head. She mouthed 'I will,' and slotted her sword on her back. "Let's get going, greeny," Hawke shouted. Without complaining about the nickname, the Inquisitor gave in to the warrior's manhandling. Together they scrabbled up the rocky cliff aiming towards the rift while Lana turned away from it. Turned away from that last salvation.

She yanked her arm out of her robes to find the green fabric up to the forearm stained red with her blood. Yanking off her staff, she drew up what little life remained inside of her and ran towards the demon. The creature was beyond anything she could imagine; mouths where there should never be, unblinking eyes staring off every inch of its massive hairy legs. It was literally every nightmare come to life, as if it couldn't pick one so it slapped all together into one demented horror. As Lana advanced on the creature, the demon picked into her mind, attempting to draw forth the weaknesses it tasted in her earlier. The nightmare dug everything it had into her mind drawing up new fears, ancient primal ones, little things she shook off with every step. But something rang like an echo of a jarring bell through her soul.

Raising her hands, Lana prepared to blast fire at the nightmare's midsection, when she caught sight of her skin. Pocked and burned, the flesh was tugged and puckered until a mottled grey mass dangled off her bones. It was the hand of a demon given flesh by a mage's failure. She stumbled out of her run, both hands flying out to catch her. Scars shredded up her arms; the mark of a demon bursting from her flesh turning her into the worst thing a mage could be, an abomination. The demon cackled in her head, promising unlimited power in exchange for her complete sacrifice. How could she? Why would she ever?!

Then Lana caught sight of the Inquisitor and Hawke struggling up the incline. A tentacle slithered through the air towards them, the nightmare intending to pick both off without either seeing it coming. How easily it could knock one away or scoop them up to bash against the rocks. Shaking with a fury she forgot was possible, Lana drove the fear out of her mind, her own skin sliding in place over the vision of the abomination's. Ice filled her heart, her brain, her soul - there was no room for fear as long as there was winter. Sensing it lost a grip, the Nightmare twisted back to its little mage when Lana unleashed all the ice spells at her disposal. A blizzard opened up above its massive head, every single bulging eye pierced with icy hail. Twisting her staff around, she shot an ice bolt through its tentacle, the force strong enough to nearly slice it off. Black blood splattered the ankle deep water. Only a strip of skin, stretched from the plummet of the limb, kept the tentacle attached to the creature but useless.

Screaming with indignant fury, the demon turned fully away from her friends and focused upon her. She rose up to face it - the drain knocking against her body, trying to pull her back - but Lana was made of sterner stuff. The nightmare lashed its pincher wide above her head attempting to smash her into the ground, but Lana snapped her staff around, the blade slicing across it. Black blood poured out of the demon's arm as the arm skittered away into the pools, the claw itself smashing into the ruins and cracking with a wet thud.

"You will die," she said throwing up a barrier. It snaked into her mind, but she was ready now. Shuffling through every little fear in her brain, it struggled but couldn't find a purchase. Lana replaced each terror in her brain with a small joy in her heart. Her fear of failure was met with an old friend, the fear of loss was exchanged with sloppy puppy kisses. The nightmare roared in an impotent rage, but Lana was fighting more than just the demon.

Pain seized up her side and she collapsed to a knee, her body splattering into the pools seeping around them. Her own blood dripped down her leg, the gore oozing into her boot and absorbing into her sock. She didn't have long. Andraste, Lana prayed, guide them. Glancing up at the rift, she could only see a speck of what was possibly Hawke and the Inquisitor running towards it. They still needed time.

That demented voice screamed in her head, "I will break your mind, I will rip apart your heart, and leave you nothing but a jibbering mass."

Lana sneered to chew back the red haze building across her vision and dipped into her spells. There were so many tricks she knew, complicated and ancient incantations designed to combat demons. But the most primal of them all surged through her. Snapping her head up, she smiled, "You will still die." Every last ounce of mana inside of her burst free, shattering the air itself with fire. The nightmare shrieked, trying to scamper back from the flames whipping towards it, but there was no escape. Fire licked up its arms, legs, down the back coated in eyes. The putrid smell of burning hair covered over the vile stench of the fade as black smoke poured from the twisting wretch. It screamed more curses in her brain, trying to drag her down with its own pain, but she was lost.

Every ounce of energy spent, Lana collapsed on the ground. The pain clawed up from her opened wound to twist against her heart and yank it downward into the abyss. So this was it. Maker, I'm sorry. She tried to inch along the ground, to fight it, but there was nothing left of her. Collapsing upon the ground, Lana gave in. Her mind slipped away from her, the last of her consciousness bobbing along a golden sea. Something rose in her thoughts as if another presence dug into her, but it wasn't the shredding fingers of the nightmare demon. This was a gentle caress against her soul. The loving embrace drew forth a recent memory to flit through her dying mind.

Adamant's doors were broken, the battering rams having finally smashed them apart. The Inquisitor wiped off the warden's blood upon his daggers while Lana tried to not look in the dead mage's face. She didn't know that one. Cullen slipped in, his own soldiers at his back. He spoke hurriedly with the Inquisitor laying out the battle plan. After mentioning Hawke, Lana searched the walls for her cousin but either they were too far away or Hawke was already through the resistance and inside, probably punching pride demons to death. The Inquisitor nodded his thanks and motioned for the rest to move out.

Then Cullen, his lips smacking, called out, "Ah, Warden," and he waved her over towards him. She glanced at the Inquisitor, but he didn't watch her, his own focus on the forces swarming up the walls.

Stepping away from the first of many of her dead peers, Lana slipped in close to Cullen and asked, "Yes, Commander?"

In spite of the rage of battle driving to its crescendo, the Inquisitor, and Maker knew who else listening in, Cullen leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I love you."

Lana's eyes slipped closed. Every ounce of his heart was poured into those three words he intended to make up time for not speaking before. She wanted to kiss him right then and there, but... Twisting a spell up in her brain, she grabbed onto his arm and dug into the gap between his glove and vambrace to touch bare flesh. The protection spell flared around him, only a hint of the golden glow to guard him from errant arrows visible. Cullen gasped from the magic rush, then a slip of a blush rose upon his cheeks. Perhaps this was her way of kissing him good luck.

Before she took her finger away, she whispered back, "Stay safe."

The memory should kill her, knowing that she failed him as much as she failed everyone else, but a rosy warmth overwhelmed her senses. She felt as if she'd dipped into a luxurious bath instead of lay dying on the frozen ground of the fade. For the moment the pain ceased in her side, the bleeding stemmed. Lana raised her head and watched as the rift flared first from Hawke and then the Inquisitor jumping through to safety. To freedom. To end all of this. Chuckling, Lana lifted a foot under her. She didn't have the strength to rise, but she wanted to glare into the nightmare's face, to watch as it realized what happened.

All three hundred eyes, half of which were now blackened from her fire, rotated towards the rift, then back to the human laughing at the absurdity of it all. Snarling, Lana shouted loud enough for her voice to reach the Black City. "You lose!"

Both mage and nightmare watched the breach shake and twist as the Inquisitor flared up his anchor from the other side. The nightmare's only way into the world sealed shut behind him. Lana expected it to finish her off, for one of its scythe arms to impale her quickly. But the nightmare screamed, its legs skittering about as if it danced upon ice. Fear was terrified. Then she saw it, a force of nature itself rolling and twisting through the fade. As if someone threw a rock across a still pond, the ripples blew apart the nightmare's domain, scattering every piece of it deeper into the depths of the fade.

Lana didn't have time to think. Unearthing her staff, she jammed the blade deep into the ground and summoned her magical fist to bury it further. Her hands wrapped around it, clinging for life as the first wave hit. Air scattered from her lungs, her body plunged back along with the nightmare. It shrieked again, but those spindly legs had nothing to hold onto. Another ripple tossed the monster upon its back, and before it could right itself, a third sent it flying into the air.

Each ripple increased in force, Lana's hands struggling to hang on. Splinters bit into her fingers, but she ignored the pain. Staying alive was all that mattered. Without the nightmare, she stood a chance. If she could just...

Her bloodied hand flung off, too slick to maintain a grip, leaving her dangling by only one. She stared up at where the breach had been, watching the last of the ripples come to shake her away into depths of horrors the Maker only knew of. "I'm sorry," she whispered, dipping her head down. She hadn't wanted it to go this way, had hoped for... Gritting her teeth, she prepared for the coming onslaught to wash her away. Beyond imagination or understanding, something like a hand grabbed onto her wrist yanking her back from the pit of the unknown. No, not a hand, an unbendable vice that pinned her to her staff.

Lana struggled to look up to see what it was, but the ripples hit her first. Shattering against her head, they blanketed out her vision, white hot light searing against her eyes. Momentarily blind, she tried to blink but the force kept her eyelids pinned shut. The next wave scattered her hearing, knocking her head back so hard she lost all sound of the winds yanking up the world itself and tearing it apart.

She dug into her staff, refusing to let go, when the last ripple hit. With nothing left inside of her, her body collapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Ser!"

Cullen's arm slagged lower than it should, the brunt of the rage demon slamming against his shoulder. Its mouth flared with an internal fire attempting to strike him down, but he smashed his shield into the demon's face. Spinning his sword in an arc he slit across its throat, even more black ichor scouring the ground in a growing puddle. He'd already nearly slipped in the mess twice.

Shoving the dying demon aside, Cullen turned to face one of his soldiers racing towards him. They'd been trying to pick off the never ending stream of demons flooding through the battlements since the Inquisitor...since something happened to them all. Cullen got pinned down near still smoldering ruins, demons flooding into his area. Never backing down, and swinging his sword without grace, he cut through each wave while a shattered portcullis dug a waffle pattern against his back. "What is it?" he shouted while swallowing down the eternal scratch of the rage demon's smoke.

"It's the breach, Ser!"

"Maker's breath," Cullen revived instantly, already running up the stairs towards the courtyard where the worst of the fade continued to pour out towards them. "What's happened to it now? An army of archdemons?"

"No idea, Ser. Only know that it's gone wobbly," the soldier fell in behind him, his own sword bent at the tip from Maker only knew.

"Wobbly, that's just perfect," Cullen sighed. "Go and find the lieutenant...um," his mind faltered, unable to toss up the name of his second or even third hand. "Any of them will do. We need to regroup around the breach incase that demon's finally broken through."

"Ser?" the soldier pointed up the last of the incline to where the rift in fact wobbled through the air. Whatever foul magics kept the blighted thing in place knocked free and, Blessed Andraste, the Inquisitor himself leapt from the fade onto the summoning pedestal. With more fanfare than was usual for the man, he curled up his anchor and knocked away the rift. He didn't even turn back to watch it seal away behind him, green light cracking as the vestiges of the fade broke.

"Thank the Maker!" Cullen cried, clapping the soldier on the back. He'd heard word of their party falling from the crumbled bridge pursued by Corypheus' dragon, but no bodies could be found dashed amongst the rubble. Against all common sense he hoped, prayed for some miracle to deliver them all and here it was. He didn't want to question it for fear it would be yanked away.

The Inquisitor spoke with the grey wardens left behind to keep an eye on the rift. Few of them remained, but Cullen wasn't about to turn down the ones willing to fight off demons. In the heat of battle, he needed all the help he could get. Swiping his sword against the edge of the wall to scrape off the blood, Cullen tried to move towards the Inquisitor.

Everyone was all cheers, even a muted round of applause broke through the crowds. They all knew a miracle when they saw it, and this was one about to go onto the chantry calendar. Then Cassandra stepped up from the side. Cullen couldn't see her, but her voice projected above the joy ringing through the courtyard, "Inquisitor...where is Lady Amell?"

Invisible fists punched into the back of Cullen's head, his lips falling slack as he vigorously hunted through the faces of those circling the Inquisitor. He spotted Dorian clutching his arm, and Varric silently glaring down his crossbow, but so many of the others were in shadow or eclipsed by heads. She had to be hidden somewhere among the mass of wardens, so tiny she slipped into the crowd. Lana was going to pop up at any moment, laughing from the gore in her hair.

The Inquisitor shared a look with Hawke, the warrior snapping her head down in a seething rage. A hint of a shudder broke through his lips as the Inquisitor lifted his head and shouted, "The Hero of Ferelden is dead."

White spots burst against Cullen's vision wiping away everything in front of him. His heart screamed as a vice enveloped it, pulverizing and banging the organ against his ribs. Unable to keep himself upright, Cullen stumbled into the wall, his shoulder taking the brunt. He could feel the Inquisitor talking, but his ears wouldn't hear it, refused to believe it.

"Ser?" the soldier, the nameless soldier tried to grab onto his arm to yank him up, but he couldn't stand. Sliding down the wall, Cullen's knee jammed from the force of meeting stone rubble. "Ser, are you all right?"

 _No. No, she couldn't be. Not now, not after...!_

"Someone, help. Please help me! The Commander's wounded!"

 _Maker, no._


	21. Chapter 21

The ceremony was lovely - or so everyone with nothing else to say insisted upon afterwards. Held in the gardens, only the elite of Skyhold gathered because there wasn't room to house all the mourners. Everyone, regardless if they were from Ferelden or fought in the blight, or even knew her name, wanted to be there to...to do what one did at funerals. To be seen sharing in a sorrow whether it truly touched them or not. Mother Giselle prepared a heart wrenching sermon she delivered while standing in the middle of the crowd circling around her. He couldn't remember if Lana ever spoke to her. She'd been skittish around the subject of the chantry and her own faith. Understandable given the mages involvement with...it didn't matter.

Josephine timed it to begin as the sun's last rays cast an ethereal glow across the garden, almost alighting the trees themselves on fire. A golden haze gave the entire thing an unreal quality, as if they'd slipped into a nightmare of their own. He'd overheard that an even larger funeral was planned in Denerim, one Leliana intended to attend for...someone's sake. All of Ferelden mourned their lost savior. The streets would wash clean from tears. Cullen couldn't remember where he heard that, but it felt right. Lana could...had touched lives, whether she meant to or not. Whether she wanted to or not. Still, the Nightingale was here now and for her fallen friend she offered up a song. It wasn't a funeral dirge, but a sliver of hope to find faith against the dying light, to embrace your fellows as neighbors and discover the spark of life in all.

It was the only time Cullen feared he would lose his grip. Lana would have gritted from the corniness of it, but she'd smile along and by the third verse be carrying the chorus in her own alto. The advisers had to stand at attention around the...pyre, in view of everyone. He felt Leliana sneaking furtive glances his way, the Spymaster gauging if he was up to the task to present a sad but strong temperament in the face of a sea of heartbreak. Cullen blanketed his mind, his eyes staring across the darkening horizon. The ceremony drew on while people gave speeches and offered up pointless anecdotes, everyone certain they knew what Lana wanted in death, praising her for her sacrifice, saying she died well. Maker, that was the worst of them all. He slipped away from every word, his focus upon the rising night sky while watching each star emerge. When a new one hatched from the dark field, he'd try to draw the name of it from his memory. The game kept him from noticing Varric's somber frown, Dorian glowering into his hands, Cassandra's staggered breath, the witch from the Winter Palace haunting around the back with her son tight in her arms, and Hawke... She wouldn't step into the gardens, as if the survivor - the reason Lana wasn't here - couldn't be welcome. But she kept watch on the battlements above, unable to face the rest of them. Even still, her never-ending, heart-wrenching sobs carried across every beam, every stone. It sounded as if all of Skyhold was crying.

He'd made it through the ceremony, the lighting of the pointless pyre, even gritted through the receiving line - as if some Duke or Count of Orlais knew anything about Lana. He knew that she would have rather ran barefoot through the snow than have to sit through this funeral. Knew that she would have hidden a book up her mage's droopy sleeves and tried to sneak a few pages in when no one was looking. Knew that she was always trying to slick down a tuft of hair at the back of her head that refused to obey. Knew that...

Everyone was sad, but he doubted they knew the real loss. How could they understand, how could they smile again knowing they faced a colder world? It was at the reception after, when people exhausted and hungry from mourning gathered in the great hall to stuff their bellies. That was when Cullen snarled at someone's incompetent question, his resolve shattering into full anger. He'd had few good moments since she fell, and never a full hour. Keeping it in check proved impossible with every passing minute, his skin itching to break free, his tongue snapping against any and all. Leliana interceded before he ripped off...he didn't even know whose head it was. Didn't care.

"Commander, would you like to join us? Varric was about to read from one of his books about the Hero of Ferelden. Apparently, she annotated it for him."

They'd huddled around a side table: Cassandra, Hawke, Vivienne, Dagna. Dorian and the Inquisitor clasped hands, their heads bowed together in an intimate prayer of sorts. Even Iron Bull was there with Sera perched upon his horns trying to get a better look. In the middle of it all was Varric, stomping around with boots on the table so everyone could see him. With his biggest voice he shouted out, "And then the prick mage said he didn't care about 'Who killed who' and turned into a giant pride demon!"

"No," Cullen shook his head, "No, I...should return to my work. We have yet to find Corypheus and..." He didn't bother to finish his sentence and left Leliana and the rest to celebrate and remember her life. The walk to his office was hollow.

What was the point? What was there to celebrate? She'd gone into the fade same as the rest, fell into that forlorn and endless place along with the Inquisitor, Hawke, Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric. But out of them all, she was the only one to not come out. No! Cullen slammed shut the book he hadn't been reading and flung it against the floor. No, she chose to stay behind. She...she gave up on everything, on him, on herself, on- Maker, damn her.

Gripping onto his hair, he collapsed into the chair, his elbows slamming against the desk. The force rattled a trio of lyrium bottles a soldier left for him to dispose of. Contraband confiscated off some merchants. Why did they think he'd have any idea what to do with them? It was the damn mages' problems and...

He didn't realize he'd picked one up until the vial was in his hand, his finger twisting around the cap as if to wedge it open. The movement was so natural to him, he shuddered. He wasn't about to give up, not now, not after... But she did. The others saw it as a heroic sacrifice. If Lana hadn't stayed behind then the nightmare demon could have infected the world, would have torn through their forces and left the Inquisition vulnerable, broken. He wanted to feel the same swell of bittersweet pride the others did, but all his mind kept playing over and over was her explaining the Calling. Admitting she wasn't... Before, when she thought there was nothing left in her life, she tried to throw it all away. And what now? Did he truly mean so little to her?

"Face hopeful despite the odds, fingers wishing to touch something soft and not sharp. Call her over and whisper your heart, 'I love you.' She smiles back, wanting to tell you what you want to hear but never lying. Not to you. 'Stay safe' she says hoping that's enough."

Cullen whipped around in his seat to find the wholesome voice. Perched upon the top of his bookcase was Cole staring intently at his gloves as if he had no idea how he was wearing them. "Get away from me, demon!" Cullen shouted. He'd reached the edge of his rope hours ago and couldn't stop from lashing out. His fingers reached for the grip of his sword but Cole only looked up, a hint of his watery eyes below the hat reaching Cullen.

"I only wanted to help, to take away the pain. To make you forget."

"You will not get inside my head," Cullen threatened, his body tightening as he moved to unsheathe his sword. He'd put up with the demon because the Inquisitor insisted, but he kept a watchful eye upon it, waited for it to touch his mind, to pollute it the way they did. The way they all did.

Cole looked more struck from Cullen's words than his obvious physical threat. Or perhaps it was his grief breaking against the compassion spirit, dragging Cole down into his own wallowing depths. The spirit patted his hands against his thighs and dug in with his fingers. Whispering to his knees, Cole said, "I'm sorry, it hurts."

Cullen's eyes screwed up tight from the madness around him and he noticed they'd begun to burn from the rage percolating through his brain. A light knock echoed off his door and he swung to that. Realizing his error, he turned back to Cole but the demon was gone, vanished as it kept doing.

"Commander," Leliana's voice called from behind the door, "may I enter?"

Releasing the grip on his sword, Cullen laid his hands out upon his desk. "Yes."

The Spymaster slipped inside without anyone wary. She'd kept her hood drawn for the entire funeral, perhaps she was playing her own game to keep from breaking. Now she pulled it back to reveal her face as if entering cleansed into a chantry's sanctuary. "May I sit?" Leliana indicated the chair piled with books. Before Cullen could respond, she knocked the stack off and placed the chair in front of him. He didn't look up at her, his focus burning through the desktop, but out of the corner of his eye he caught the three lyrium vials. Guilt churned through his stomach even though he had no intentions of using them before. He wanted to reach over and knock them all away into a drawer, but that would only draw attention.

Properly seated, Leliana reached into her pocket and unearthed a small glass bottle. It was sky blue, tapered at the top, with a crystal plug sealed in wax to keep its contents safe. Cullen grimaced from the grey powder poured into it. Seeming to not notice his discomfort, Leliana placed it upon his desk directly between his hands. "She would want you to have some."

Glowering through the ashes, Cullen tried to not snicker at the misplaced sentiment, "What's the point? It's old wood and lavender burnt to ash as a stand in? It's not her."

"There is acceptance in ceremony."

"There is idiocy in it all," he countered, still glaring at the fraudulent bottle, but he didn't knock it away or hand it back. His hands were lead against the desk, too heavy to move.

"Are you all right?" the Spymaster asked, her own crystal eyes chewing through him.

He wanted to scream that of course he wasn't. It seemed unlikely he'd ever be all right again. Sleep was impossible, only a sliver of night claimed to the fade, and even then he'd start awake with sweat dousing his skin. Even burying himself in work drew forth more weep from his soul, so much of Adamant - the wardens themselves - needing his approval, his ideas, his heart. Instead of telling the truth, he settled for, "I am...doing what I must. What of you? You knew her well, best friends I think she even claimed, and yet you seem unfazed, as still as a pond."

And then he saw something he knew to be as rare as a white dragon. Leliana cracked. Her lips wobbled and tears gushed from her eyes - not the pretty, solitary tear of a proper mourner, but a deluge pouring down her cheeks and crumpling her nose. Ruddiness charred up her cheeks and circled around her eyes, the poor Spymaster's pale skin an instant giveaway when she'd been crying. No wonder she kept herself in the shadows.

"I...I didn't meant to," Cullen reached out and clumsily grabbed her hand.

"We put on the show for the sake of the others, but behind closed doors..." Leliana glanced back at his making certain it was still tight. "I thought she was invulnerable, hoped she would be. Imagined her as if..." She shuddered in a breath. "I feel her loss with every pang of my heart."

That was it. That was what it felt like. Not the grief he thought he knew, the grief of losing a part of your life, of change. It was pain inside every inch of his body, his soul, as if someone drove a nail into his brain. Every thought, every breath dug the nail in deeper and deeper until there was no coming back, nothing worth coming back for. He was exhausted, his mind haunted by both sweet and harrowing memories. Either drove him to the edge of tears, his fingers digging into the bed frame in the middle of the night while Cullen fought for a grasp on reality. She was gone, she went into the fade and didn't come back. He'd never see or hear her again. And she did it of her own accord. Because...because he wasn't worth surviving for.

"I've cleaned out her belongings," Leliana spoke up, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

"What? Why?" He hadn't gone near that side of Skyhold, couldn't face it, but to think that her books, her handful of personal effects, even that silly mechanism she never got working right... No, they couldn't be gone too. Not with her.

Leliana pinched her nose and sucked in a breath, "Lanny has...had sensitive relics in her possession, things that Ferelden could lay some claim to. I...the king asked for her staff, but..."

Of course he would. He was the one with the greatest standing of all those who knew her, the one who broke her, beat her down until she saw no escape. Couldn't find a reason to keep fighting to come back.

"Commander?" Leliana spoke, her words jarring him. He woke to realize he'd been strangling a stack of parchment upon his desk. Somehow in that time, she'd wiped away all evidence of her crying, even her cheeks back to a milky white. "There was something of hers that I thought you should have."

He bobbed his head. A part of him, the one still madly in love with her, wanted to rush into her room and pick up that borrowed grey warden tunic if only to smell her once more, to feel the final vestiges of her heat. But his steps steered him far away from her room and he couldn't bring himself to ask anyone else to do it for him.

Leliana reached into her pocket once more, but it wasn't the faded grey shirt passed through the years between them she handed over but a book. Little larger than his palm, it was bound in cheap red leather that looked as if it'd been later patched along the split seams by dragon scales. "What is this?" he sputtered, twisting the book around to try and find an explanation.

"I believe it is a journal...addressed to you."

"A journal?" She'd never said a word about it to him or anyone else as far as he knew. "And you've already read it," he said his heart sinking from Maker knew what was in there. Lana kept secrets that would turn any stomach, things that she could only whisper to him about. If any of them got out people would tarnish her, perhaps even hate her without understanding the full of it.

Leliana slipped out of her seat, rising to stretch her legs. "No, I would never invade her privacy like that. Whatever she had to say, wanted to put down, she meant it for you. I should return to the reception. You could join us later. Those of us from Ferelden are planning our own wake."

"No," Cullen shook his head, his hands still weighing the book. "No, I cannot. Not...no."

Gently bobbing her head, the stoic Spymaster unlatched his door. "I understand. And Cullen, you do not need to go it alone."

He started from her familiar words, but Leliana already slipped back into the night leaving him alone with only the flicker of the candle and his own traitorous thoughts. Grief he understood, grief was what people expected, but that wasn't what chained up his heart or knotted his stomach. After he heard the full of what happened in the fade, a blinding anger took hold of him. Tears were stemmed not from a happy thought or memory, but the wrath screaming through his soul. How could she throw herself away like that? How could she think so little of what was left of her life to-to...? How could he not be worth trying for? How could he not convince her to come back? How could he fail her?

Screaming, Cullen slammed the small book down onto his desk. The vials rattled again, all three of them twinkling like bells in the snow. Or rain against a window pane. The latter thought caused him to shudder, his memory slipping back to the tower, to blood dripping through the stones into... Blessed Andraste, make it stop. Take it all away. He couldn't handle the anger inside anymore. Not...Maker, not against her. Why was he mad at her? She hadn't done anything but be what she could with him. His entire body sagged in the chair, his forehead skimming across the surface. Slivers of tears dripped from his eyes, but he knew he wasn't mourning her but his own inability to let her be enough. She'd asked, begged that he understand what little she had to offer, that he accept he would never be enough. But would he? Could he?

Cullen would never let Cole anywhere near his mind, but he had other means to purge the anger from himself. A well practiced hand plucked up a solitary lyrium vial, the bottle pinched between his forefinger and thumb. Part of him chastised himself, he swore he'd never leash himself again, that he'd struggle to his last breath to keep what mind he had left. But that promise was made to a dead woman. What did it matter now?

Cullen stood transfixed staring at the glowing lyrium, his mind waging a war with itself. He could have been trapped there for hours, or only a few minutes; time ceased to be as he both tried to open the vial and kept it sealed tight. She wouldn't want him to, but she wasn't here. Would never be here again. Would never step into his life, would never slip her fingers into his and caress the back of his hand. A stinging rose in his eyes, and he wiped away the prickling of tears along with the candle smoke. His eyes slipped past the lyrium bottle to fall upon the book Leliana gave him. She'd said it was addressed to him, but...

Still standing, Cullen inched the book closer to himself. With one hand clinging to the lyrium he slipped open the cover. The vellum was nearly yellow from age and overuse, a few scratch marks evident from when it was last scraped clean. But he could read the words in the fading ink. Sure enough, it was meant for Cullen, but not the Commander of the Inquisition.

"To Knight-Captain Cullen,

I wished to extend to you fair greetings from across the waking sea. Amaranthine grows curious as to the current trade agreements once made in good standing with Kirkwall. Due to the lack of a Viscount and (a few scratch marks followed) Maker, I'm sorry. I am terrible at code, even worse at sounding pompous when it's supposed to be a threat. Whatever happened to 'if you do this I will bring an army and smash your walls down?' That's simple, right? People get the message and I've gone completely off topic.

This is my fifth, or perhaps sixth attempt at writing to you since you assisted me with that warden matter. Based upon the piles of mutilated vellum across my desk it grows more unlikely I will ever send this to you. Yet, I feel I should explain my ill conceived choices in the deep roads. What I wanted to convey and hoped to convince you of was that I'd never meant to (a thick swipe of ink obliterated whatever she wrote after) Sweet Andraste, this is never going to work."

She didn't bother to sign it, only dabbed a few of her ink covered fingerprints across the bottom of the paper. Curious, Cullen turned the page to find another letter, this one dated 9:37, right after Kirkwall's circle fell.

"For Knight-Captain Cullen,

Word has reached the shores of Amaranthine of the chaos in Kirkwall, and I officially extend any assistance you or the Viscount-less city might require. Refuges are struggling for shelter having fled with little upon their backs. We will not offer to (scratch marks). Given the temerity of the attack, all citizens fleeing the chaos are welcome, regardless of (Lana attacked the page with her quill as if trying to stab away what she feared to speak)

Maker, what happened? All we're hearing is snippets of wild tales; dragons, the chantry exploding, a statue of Andraste coming to life and smashing all of Kirkwall with a stone sword. I am uncertain what, if any of it, is true. If it weren't for Nathaniel I wouldn't even know that you survived. I should have written before. At least sent you something to open up communications. There doesn't seem much point now. With all of thedas braying for mage blood, my abilities to function in any official capacity are shackled. I can't imagine what you're suffering from, what all of Kirkwall is struggling against.

I wish I could be there to help.

Who am I kidding? I'm never sending this one either.

Your useless Arlessa,

Lana Amell"

Curiosity piqued, Cullen took the book up in both of his hands and he fell into his chair. Over time, the pile of letters that she never got around to sending transformed into a true journal but every entry began addressed to him. She spoke of her life, her travails trying to revive the wardens from their stupor with a candidness rarely afforded to the written word. He could almost hear her whispering her words just behind his ear.

"Please tell me you've never fought a dragon before, Cullen. Messy, foul smelling, and healing burns is about as much fun as mopping up broodmother blood..." "You'll never guess what I just found. Well, of course you won't, you're parchment. But if you could, it'd amaze you..." "Sweet Maker, I think I've almost got the old biscuit recipe down. And I did, until the oven exploded. Apparently lyrium sand can look an awful lot like sugar." He skipped around, his fingers shuffling past pages of her life he missed out on, years wasted while they were both to terrified to risk opening up to each other. Throughout the journal his brain clung to every mention of his name which never seemed too far from her thoughts. There was a lightness in her words, a joy in the simple things as she delighted in the mundane of life until the pages came to a dead stop. Flipping past two more blank entries, the words began again but the hand was cold and curt, the letters jagged as if the holder of the quill stabbed them into being.

"I forgot about this journal. Things have changed, every plan I thought I had has been corrupted. Sundered. Somehow, I've found myself enmeshed with the Champion of Kirkwall, an irritatingly cheery woman who also to my absolute delight brought Anders back into my life. He is concerned that I may at any moment snap and end his life. While I doubt I am willing, it seems better if he harbors on under the delusion. What brought me back to this journal you're asking sheets of parchment? Red lyrium. I almost turned my back upon my new 'cousin' until she told me of it, asked me to find the source. Told me of its existence within Kirkwall's templars. Maker's breath, Cullen. You damn well better not be involved with this stuff."

Her admonishment startled him. She'd never mentioned that it was her hunt for red lyrium that...that was what pulled her from the Calling. Or that she was concerned for him taking it, becoming- Andraste's tears, she feared him falling into the same corruption as the other templars.

"I can sense something wrong about it, more than wrong. All I hear is talk of it turning people into statues, or it being made from a statue. I don't know, Hawke gives me a splitting headache. Please. Don't have taken it. I can't understand it, certainly can't solve it, but I pray to the Maker you're not a part of it."

He didn't realize his fingers began to shake until he moved to turn the page. Formulas, theories, even a few quick notes in code filled the margins of the page as if Lana needed to write them down quickly before she forgot. On occasion, a few more anecdotes about her trials with Hawke and Anders appeared mixed in, but every entry ended with, "You better not be a part of this." She spoke of the temple of sacred ashes attack with a solemn detachment, unable to process the massive loss of life. Something in her trying to understand grief on that scale struck deep against him and he couldn't read the passage. One day perhaps, but not now.

Flipping deeper into the book, days passed until he paused upon, "I saw you today. Never in an age did I think it would happen. Hearing about the templars, then hearing about their corruption from Therinfall, I tried to put you from my thoughts. To cling to hope that you'd been one of the smart templars to avoid Corypheus' grasp. And then there you were. Alive. Safe. It caught me so off guard, I proceeded to almost smash my face into the floor. Very heroic, I know.

"I'm sitting here in the tunic I borrowed off your gallantry. I hope you don't mind it too much, it's surprisingly soft. When we spoke, I understood why we need to keep things between us civil, fully agreed with your thoughts. I simply never expected it to sting."

Cullen yanked his head away to stare at his own door. The one he'd led her through to try and find a change of clothing. He hadn't wanted to keep her at an arm's length, but it seemed to be what she did. What she needed. He hadn't even been certain if she could feel for him what he did for her. Maker, he was such a fool. In giving her an out, he hurt her and himself in the process. There were still questions that raged in his mind about her, about them, and now...now he had the possibility of answers in his fingers. But did he want to know them? She was frank, admitted that she didn't love him, at least not yet. There could be more to the story, more to where her own loyalties lay. His hand drew down the spine of the fragile book, bending it away as Cullen weighed whether he could live with himself, live with what was contained beyond this first blush of romance.

He rifled through the book's back half with his errant finger, struggling to find answers in his own soul. So many blank pages remained, untouched by her, never to be filled with her life, her words. Because of her decision. That anger flared up anew, and he flipped backwards through the blank pages until coming upon her last entry - the final piece he could have of her beyond a faded spell and a whispered order.

"Adamant. Tomorrow we set out. I want this to be over, to be finished, to find a finality to my life. Even slaying the archdemon came with a to be continued attached. The darkspawn didn't scatter into their holes as they should have. They kept attacking, kept preying, kept needing me to be the warden. And now.

You're asleep on my bed. Maker thank Hawke for setting out early with the first of the party. She said it was for intel, but I'm certain she tried to give us time together. I wanted to dream in your arms, but my mind refuses to give up. It can't cease churning over every fear, measure every failure, wonder what will happen when this is over. I don't know, I have no answers save one: there's you. Whether the wardens fall or are redeemed, I cannot be a part of them. Not anymore. And if, after Adamant, the Inquisitor has no use of me I do not fear the endless expanse because I know I will find you waiting at the end. How our lives keep finding themselves knotted up like this, I cannot comprehend, but I am grateful to stumble upon you.

Do we keep getting the timing wrong, is this some ploy of the Maker, or are we waiting for our own minds to catch up together? I wish I could give you all of me. That sounded less dirty in my head. That I'd return your sentiments without question, but I fear opening myself up again. And until I can combat that fear, I need time. Time that we can find together, after Adamant.

For the love of the Maker, I pray and beg Andraste to keep you. To guide you back from the battle so in time I can learn to love you. Stay Safe. Please."

The book scattered from his hands falling shut upon the desk. Inside of his heart, the anger melted leaving only an endless wave of tears washing him clean. He curled up and cried every drop he'd kept locked away behind his wall of rage. The vials of lyrium lay forgotten as Cullen's breathless voice repeated her final words. "Stay safe. Maker, stay safe."


	22. Chapter 22

Cullen whistled for the dog to return to his side. She perked up, her dark nose coated in yellow pollen from burying herself snout deep into a bush, but she didn't run to him. Instead, her stub of a tail wagged, nearly taking the entire back half with her, as a tongue lolled out. Sighing, he dug through his hair, "Right, we still have to work out a few of those commands. Come on, Honor," he tried again, jerking his head towards his office and patting his leg. They'd been on a walking tour of Skyhold getting her acclimated to her new home. She'd been particularly enthralled with the stables pre-mucking, Cullen less so.

Barreling past him on muscled legs, Honor bounded through the open door and skidded to a halt. She had all the grace of a rampaging ogre, but it drew a smile to his lips to watch the vigor with which his new adoption enjoyed life.

"Welcome back, Ser," Addley smiled widely at him as she placed a few reports down on his covered desk. Maker only knew how much work awaited him after the return.

"Captain," Cullen nodded his head to her politely, but she shook off the formality. "I can about guess the mountain and a half of paperwork awaiting me."

"Large enough to build us another fortress in the Frostbacks I'm afraid," Addley sighed. She was perched upon his desk, one leg knocking into the back with a friendly ease that washed over his troops after Corypheus fell.

Cullen approached the terror waiting for him courtesy of every noble in thedas poking their noses into his business, but he paused to scratch along Honor's head. Her leg slapped into the stone when he found the spot just behind her ears. "As if we thought turning the entire operation over to Divine Victoria would be easy..." He hunted through the top missives, trying to find the most pressing matters. The Inquisitor was not back to himself after both a loss and a near one, but - in her last days serving them - Josephine volunteered to assist in the transfer of power. "Addley, we need a count of the troops. An accurate one, no one-two, skip a few. Numbers for weaponry, typical smithing fees, the amount of feed consumed for cavalry..."

His musing paused as he turned up to her lit eyes. "It's good to have you back," she said.

"I suppose," Cullen dodged from the potential flattery. It seemed Addley didn't notice his cold turn as she reached across the desk to grip his hand. Cullen stared at his work instead of her.

"Stopping a qunari invasion deserves celebrating, I'd say," she smiled at him.

"Stopping an invasion, nearly plummeting all of southern thedas into a lawless chaos. It's all in how you look at the situation," Cullen said, but he didn't yank his hand away. He was uncertain what to do. Mercifully, Addley hopped to her feet, her orders in place. His fingers curled up as her hand left, holding themselves.

Adjusting her braid back, she bobbed her head, "I'll speak with the quartermaster first."

"Good," Cullen nodded, already slipping back to work.

Addley paused at the door and in a sing-song voice, as if just thinking of it, mentioned, "Oh, and now that you've returned, perhaps we could continue that game of chess we abandoned."

Cullen blinked, his shoulders tightening from a senseless guilt, "I'm afraid I have a lot of work. But..." he turned from his work and slapped on a small smile, "later, maybe."

"I'll hold you to it," she smirked and tipped her head. Throwing open the door, Addley vanished to do her job.

Watching her wake, Cullen tried to will back a guilty thrumming knocking against his heart. Tossing the paperwork aside, he strode to his bookshelf. At the center of the middle shelf sat the blue bottle. He felt foolish for keeping it knowing there was no part of her inside, but it also lightened his heart to see it. It took a long while to reach that point. A year, perhaps even longer before he could speak of Lana without needing to excuse himself, when memories of her made him smile instead of wall up alone in his loft. He'd gotten better, day by day.

Then they returned to the Winter Palace and it was as if someone ripped away every scabbed over inch of his wound. Even with the qunari, and the magic mirrors, and a return of an elven god for the Maker's sake he couldn't stop thinking of Lana. When the nobility started in on him, questioning his empty hand or wondering if he had anyone to share his bed he dreamed of her shoving the throngs aside, grabbing his slack fingers and taking him to the dance floor.

Lifting up the false bottle of ashes, Cullen plucked out her journal from below it. He'd read it all, every word, even tried to decipher the ones she'd scribbled over. Oftentimes it helped to see her thoughts, to almost consult her words as if she was the chant of light or something equally as blasphemous. He'd taken to hunting out the books she'd mention, most of them dry reading on magical theory. Plowing through her old studies took focus, and more than a few on theories of time dilation were abandoned by the third paragraph. He was surprised to find that on top of the scholarly tomes, she also had an appetite for adventure stories. They weren't the dark, angst ridden tales that proved popular in the aftermath of the blight and the mage rebellion. No, Lana seemed to adore books where the hero was good, the villain was bad, and everyone lived happily ever after. Oddly, Cullen found himself smiling while reading them - regardless of how trite they might have been. As if the simple story could wash away his pains for a few hours at least.

Stored along the shelf with her not-ashes were her favorite books in random order. On occasion, his soldiers would catch him with one and inquire about it, but Cullen felt embarrassed to explain he was sharing his reading with a dead woman. Then, one day, he spotted Addley consuming the same tale of the Serpent Empress and he stopped. During the darker days he'd seek comfort in Lana's words, but even those seemed to break. He hadn't read her journal in nearly a month. A film of dust coated the cover from his blunder. Gentle wiping it against the edge of his coat, Cullen held up the poor thing. She hadn't taken the time to properly bind it, and Maker knew he wasn't gentle when it came to such things. Pages threatened to scatter from a soft breeze, but he knew how to get them into proper order even without dates. He'd read the entire book so often he could recite every line, remember every punctuation mark - all of it but the last entry. The words burned into his soul, but he couldn't bring himself to face them again.

Honor broke from gnawing upon her leg and barked at the door. Still holding the journal close, Cullen shook his head at the dog, "Quiet."

The barking ceased and Honor rolled her big brown eyes at him. Wagging her stump of a tail, she contorted her entire face into becoming the most pathetic creature he'd ever seen. "Maker's breath," Cullen sighed. "That won't work on me." Despite his insistence, he reached into his pocket and unearthed a strip of dried meat. Tossing it to Honor, she bounced up on her paws and caught it in the air. The meat vanished down her throat without any of her teeth getting involved. "You're liable to choke that way," he said scritching along her head.

A knock bounced against his door. Most likely Addley back with the report. He'd been enjoying her company as of late, it was true, but Cullen wasn't in the frame of mind to face whatever she seemed to want from him. Still, the chantry waited for no man. Turning back to his desk to grab a few missives and give the illusion he was working, he shouted, "Enter!"

"I heard from a few of the best saluters you were up here and...you have a dog. Are they giving out dogs now at the Winter Palace? I never got a dog."

Cullen flipped on his heels and his jaw nearly hit the floor. The blighted King of Ferelden stood in his doorway. Instead of dressed in his armor or even gilded finery, the man gave the appearance of an average merchant fresh off the road. Abandoned on the side of the road, more like. Dirt muddied up his sandy locks and face giving him an even more common appearance than normal. "What are...your Highness, what are you doing here?" He shook off the shock of having a king stride into his office, and an explanation for this sudden appearance burned in his brain. "If you've come to dismantle us further, you're too late. The decision was made and approved by the council."

The king of Ferelden dipped to a knee and took on a full face slobber from Honor. Cullen probably should have called her off, but it did clear off the dirt at least. Leaning back from the dog, Alistair's brow wrinkled in an apparently well known confusion, "What?"

"You, all of Ferelden, were braying for the dismantling of the Inquisition. I assume you've come to try and..."

Alistair waved his hands scattering away Cullen's thoughts. "Yes, yes, that bureaucratic posturing, big bad pompous stuff. Teagan was handling it. Said it was done, anyway."

Cullen crossed his arms and stepped around behind his desk. He was off kilter from a king of all things in his office unannounced. But being behind his own seat of power gave him a strength that something told him he'd need to get through this. "You seem to not even care about the outcome despite Ferelden calling for the Exalted Council in the first place. In spite of the years of service we've provided to you, Orlais, all of thedas itself."

"Yeah," he scratched the back of his ear, and shrugged, "then you nearly went and started a war with the Qunari. And almost blew up my palace. Kinda hard to wipe that one away unnoticed."

Cullen growled and he noticed Honor matching it, the hair along the back of her nape rising. He cooed to her, and the stance broke, but she wasn't as ecstatic to see the king anymore. Alistair waved both hands in the air in a strange mea culpa, "This isn't what I meant to get into. Qunari bad, invasion bad, stopping it good. Miniature flags all around. That's not why I'm here. Mind if I sit?"

It felt idiotic, the king asking if he could sit. Kings didn't do that, they sat where they pleased and you rushed to find a chair to catch the royal butt before it hit the ground. This man was infuriating at every level. Cullen waved his hand to the empty chair and Alistair slipped into it. Rather than sit himself, Cullen placed both hands upon his desk and leaned down.

"If you do not care about the Inquisition breaking apart and joining with the chantry...?"

"Just what Leliana needs by the way, to be even scarier."

Sighing at his mention of Divine Victoria, Cullen continued, "What are you doing here?"

Alistair knocked his knuckles against the desk in a cheery greeting as if he expected someone to open it up from inside. "I don't know if she mentioned it, but a few years back Lanny gave me her phylactery."

Cullen tightened from her mention, and even more so the king's preferred name for her. "She did tell me, actually."

"Oh?" Alistair's head snapped up. "Interesting, didn't think she was the type to go blabbing her secrets to templars. Anyway, after carefully securing it from the chantry, Lanny..."

"She told me the chantry gave it to her," Cullen interrupted.

"Yeah 'gave.' Like they were going to turn in their trump card without a major fight. But she didn't want to worry about random templars coming for her in the night, especially if politics went egg shaped. You know the drill, Banns band together, bribe a few sisters or a mother to get her phylactery, hire a lyrium addicted templar and then set a trap to take her down."

Cullen glanced down at the desk trying to piece together his thoughts. She hadn't been explicit about it, and they were rather in flagrante at the time. Not to mention she had no way of knowing how he'd react to the truth, even he was uncertain if... "What is your point?"

"As I said, I've had her phylactery for a few years."

As well as every damn thing she ever touched. The king of Ferelden, despite Lana banning him from her life, swooped in to snap away all her personal belongings. Relics of the Hero were stored in a glass display locked around her statue in Denerim. Leliana described it to him once before she moved to Val Royeaux. Cullen never had the stomach to visit it.

"She's been gone for two years," Cullen said.

Alistair nodded, dirt scattering from his hair onto the desk. "Yeah, two years," his words fell down into his chest, all flippancy drained as each day of her death wore raw against his sentence. "Funny thing about phylacteries. I'd never used one before to chase mages around, but I'd been put on cleaning duty before. You know, go through the storehouse and toss out all the old ones. The...uh, dead ones."

Cullen threw his head back and glared at the ceiling. He was about to beg for a point to be found somewhere, anywhere. But tossing a king out of his office would reflect poorly upon him and the recently rebranded Inquisition.

Shifting on his side, Alistair's fingers dug into a satchel wound about his hip. "The dead ones, they stop being all bright red. You know."

"Yes, I know," Cullen glowered, his ire building against the man. Maker, what did Lana ever see in him?

"Funny thing." Alistair placed his hands upon the desk, then removed his fingers to reveal a small bottle hidden in his palm. A red light pulsed through the blood contained within the clear glass, beating to match its owners heart. "Hers started up a week ago."

Cullen's legs gave out and his ass fell hard against his chair. His hands lay upon both sides of the bottle, terrified to touch it, to entertain hope that it was real. It looked familiar, like the ones Ferelden's circle used before they all fell. The words 'S. Amell' were engraved into the glass up the side. Templars never bothered with the full name unless they had siblings. "This can't be...I don't understand. How?"

"You're a templar, were a templar. Go on, touch it." Alistair sat back in his chair, his legs crossed as if he had all the time in thedas to wait.

Gulping from a terror crawling up his spine, Cullen fought inside himself. He wanted so badly to grip it, to feel Lana's life calling out from somewhere in thedas, but Maker, to have that hope dangled before him and then dashed as soon as it began? Screwing up his courage, Cullen yanked off a glove and lightly caressed the glass. Every hair on his body twisted towards the west, and more than that, he felt a taste of something cold on the winds, the ground rocky and unforgiving, and sea airs hissing from the high altitude. Not like the frostbacks, these treacherous mountains were near unscalable without knowing the terrain.

His eyes snapped open and he stuttered, "The Anderfalls?" Alistair nodded. "How can she be there?"

The king picked back up the phylactery and turned it in his fingers. "With Lanny, there's probably a dragon or twelve involved. Maybe a flock of baby griffins saved her."

Holding his head tight, Cullen tried to wrap his mind around this. Lana was alive, could be alive. Out there in the world. Reachable, after all this time. "Why bring this to my attention?" Cullen started, struggling to find any sense.

Still lost in the pulse of her blood, Alistair's voice drifted, "I've been testing it, trying to find her but something's wrong. The location never changes. Whatever Lanny's gone through, been through, I know she'd never stay away from...be kept away from Ferelden unless she's in trouble. Well, better trouble than being dead."

"She could be with the wardens," Cullen said and the rage he thought he'd buried long ago stirred inside. Two years and if they'd had her, if she'd joined with them without a single letter or note...

But Alistair shook his head negative, "Doesn't feel right, something's up. Something's wrong and I intend to find out." Wrapping his fingers tight around the phylactery, the king returned it to his satchel. "So, now it's up to you, Commander of the newest arm of the chantry."

"What is?"

"Travel the world, save the girl. Are you in or out?"

Cullen scoffed at him, "You're mad, beyond mad. Why would you even invite me? Why would I travel with you?"

"First, probably not nice to call a king mad. Either he's not and takes offense to it, or he is and takes real offense to it. Then it's all bathing in blood and talking to decapitated heads. Messy. Second, I never unlocked all the high level templar skills. I can get a sense of Lanny's direction but narrowing it down requires one who was really into the mage killing." That drew a snarl to Cullen's face, but he didn't respond. "And third, the phylactery's mine. If you want to find her, and I'm guessing you do, I'm leading this. That's how it works, soldier man."

The king of Ferelden rose off the chair and tested his weight upon the balls of his feet. "Come with me, or stay here and wonder. It's up to you. Either way, I'll be waiting in the gardens for your decision." Bending down to pat the dog one more time, Alistair gave a half hearted salute and sauntered out of Cullen's office.

Glaring through the insipid man, Cullen's mind tripped around. How could he even entertain the thought? The very premise was flimsy. She'd been dead for two years, lost to the fade. People don't just walk out of it. But Corypheus did. Right, and he blighted the world for it. Lana would never, could never... His life was here, he devoted himself wholesale to the Inquisition. Even if now the organization was only to play the role of peacekeepers for the chantry, placing him back under the wing of the ones he'd once broken from, at least...at least it hadn't broken his heart.

Cullen slipped away from his desk to his bookshelf. His fingers ran along the grooves carved into her bottle. It wasn't an urn, not a proper one. There hadn't been time to craft enough before the funeral. Josephine offered to find him something more proper after, but in truth he didn't care what the fake ashes sat in. They weren't her, would never be her because there was no body. There was no finality to her loss, no last glance at the empty body before it was given to the flames.

He knew what he should do. Remain with the Inquisition, honor his word. They were in a precarious state already, to pass it all off to someone untested would be cruel. Perhaps finally settle the way everyone kept asking about. Marry, have children. Entertain the idea of retiring. Maker save him, even attempt farming again. That was the smart thing, to leave the bottle closed, let hope remain trapped inside of it. Wait for Lana to whither to little more than a soft, yearly pang in his heart and nothing more.

Cullen popped open the top of the top of the bottle and, out of his slit of a window, he dumped the fraudulent ashes into the wind. He could do all that, he knew it, give in to what was right, what was simple. But, if he had a chance, if there was even a sliver of hope that Lana was alive and needed him, he couldn't live with himself if he never tried. Emptied of the ashes, Cullen placed the bottle on the shelf. He wrapped her journal inside his shirt close to his chest and whistled for Honor to follow. The Anderfells awaited him.

* * *

Pain returned first, with sound on its heels. Her hand ached, the one that clung to her staff as if her life depended...actually, it had depended on it. Maybe. This was the fade, sense was a luxury now. Lana extended her gnarled hand out upon the ground, trying to will away the sting from the cramp, when she started. The fade's ground which had once looked like any random cavern chewed up and spit out by a nightmare was now replaced with lain stone. Cold to the touch, she recognized the pattern of the grout, one she'd glare at often when not paying attention to Banns demanding she care about petty things.

Slowly, Lana raised her aching head away from the floor. In the distance she spotted a table attached to a wall, its flatware all in place despite nature trying to dash them against the ground. An ogre's severed head was the centerpiece. More pain seared up her body, and she reached towards her stomach prepared to heal the wound, but only enraged muscles cried out at her. Her fatal, or nearly fatal, blow was healed by something beyond her understanding. Lana felt the crunchy dried blood coating her robes and slicking up her glove, but any hint of the gash was gone. What was going on?

"Good morning, lazy. Took you long enough."

She yelped from the voice and spun around on her knees, magic crackling across her aching fingers. Standing above her was a mage, a mage she'd known far too well and not well enough. He held his hand out towards her, his smile cocksure. "Jowan?!" Lana started, very aware of how dead he was. She'd been there for it, watched it for his sake. "How are you...? No, wait. This is the fade, like the Divine, you're not really Jowan."

He gripped onto her hand and it felt warm, real, the skin clinging to hers as he helped her to rise. Lana swallowed down a wave of nausea and glanced around what remained of the fade she'd watched obliterate itself in the wake of the rift closing. If someone yanked up the circle tower's walls, smashed them into Vigil Keep's floors, then ripped off the roofs to expose the Black City hovering in the sky, it'd approximate what she saw looming in all directions across the horizon. Lightning crackled on the horizon, and she spotted the first of Maker only knew how many spirits or demons floating through the ruins.

Grinning as if he had all the time in the world, Jowan, or whatever was posing as him, cocked a hip and waved a hand at the monstrosity, "You're a long way from home, Lanny."

TO BE CONTINUED IN **MY HOPE**

Hey guys, just wanted to drop a little line here that you've all been awesome and I want to get the next part out soon but I'm gonna spend April working on my own book. Medieval Spain, cross dressing bandits, city in revolt, blah blah. So there won't be anything new until sometime in May at the earliest. If you want to follow along for when My Hope is released it might be best to follow me here, or on twitter IntrovertedWife, or tag me, or send ravens to stalk my movements.

Thanks so much for reading and commenting!


	23. Thank You Gift

_This is a thank you for all you guys being great._

 _These are a couple scenes I had an idea for that didn't tonally fit in with the rest of the story, but they were too damn fun for me to not write. So, here are a couple deleted moments that fit in after the blizzard. Enjoy!_

* * *

The door to his office blew open and the Seeker strode through as if he was wasting her time. Cullen would have taken offense, but that was how Cassandra always moved, her thoughts an hour ahead of her body. Lana joked once that she suffered from the same debilitating disease as Hawke where if they stopped moving they'd die. He tried to scoff it away, but there seemed to be a bit of truth to it with Cassandra's predilection to live beside the training dummies.

"Ah, Seeker," he pushed away the first of the days rosters to clear space on his desk. "Morning."

Cassandra bobbed her taciturn head and returned a, "Morning." She handed over the usual information he received from the Seeker; impressions on the readiness of the army and her thoughts on how to improve it.

Glancing over the first few sentences all of which began with "Needs improvement" Cullen's eyes darted up for a moment, "You didn't need to hand me these yourself, of course. My scout can more than handle..."

"I needed to bring this." Her steel eyes flashed back to the door as if to make certain it was shut, then she dropped a single piece of parchment into his hands. Confusion melted to utter mortification as Cullen realized what he gripped in his trembling fingers.

Cassandra folded her arms, her face unreadable, "I am assuming by your shock you did not intend that for me."

"No!" Cullen squeaked, then he pawed at his forehead struggling to come to grips with the fact this was real life and not some horrifying nightmare. "No, Seeker, I would never."

"You would never?" she almost sounded hurt, her terrifying arms digging tighter across her chest as she glowered upon him.

"It's not that, I mean, you're a fine woman, but...I, um, consider you more in terms of a platonically...friend."

Cassandra's arched eyebrow and inscrutable gaze watched him struggle for any way out of this mess short of leaping off the battlements. She held it upon him as time elongated itself into an eternity. He heard his own heart thundering its final death throes against his ribcage before the Seeker saw fit to throw him from the top of the tallest tower. Then, the formidable Right Hand of the Divine smirked. Honest to the Maker, smirked. Her arms fell slack off her chest and her entire frosty form melted.

"I assumed as much, Commander. Hoped that this was a mistake and not some ill thought attempt on your part."

Sweet Andraste! He didn't have a chair to sag into, but he took his weight upon his hands stretched upon his desk. His head swung down to face his own incriminating words glaring up from the crisp parchment. It had seemed a wise idea at the time. Maker, what was he thinking?

"What were you thinking?" Cassandra repeated his own internal monologue, her finger dancing close to the vellum but not touching it.

"I, uh, am guessing you read it," he gulped out.

"Imagine my surprise to find in the midst of ration numbers and the stockpile of horse manure a romantic poem comparing a woman's love to..." Cassandra craned her neck to read the first line, "'the enveloping fog rippling across a moonlit pond.'"

Hearing it aloud drilled into Cullen's molars. It sounded even worse than he'd expected, and that was the tamer of excerpts he jotted down from old books. A burning circled up his legs as he remembered some of the later quotes from the Awakening of the Dragon King he inserted at the end. Oh Maker, if Cassandra had read those...

"I, uh, I'd intended to...um," there was no sensible lie. He'd long lost the opportunity to pretend he didn't recognize it, and there was no good reason for the commander of an army to be writing down such trite. Short of another invasion battering their walls, there was no way for him to escape his own mess.

The Seeker managed to keep a straight face as she leaned back. With one fist on the desk for balance she said, "I assume there is a woman."

"Ah...yes," Cullen admitted, a rush of guilt and excitement in equal measures rising through him. He hadn't told a soul about Lana, didn't think it was their business to pry into his affairs, but Maker sometimes he wished to. He wanted to shout it from every eave in Skyhold.

Cassandra paused to see if he intended to fill in about this woman, but he clammed up, his eyes trying to burn apart the parchment using his own will. "And you are attempting to woo her, with bad poetry."

"I..." Was that what he was trying to do? He had no idea how one wooed. Courting was beyond the norm for a templar, and mages as well. They never seemed to go in for the extended, disjointed dance of courtly manners and misdirected promises. The few relationships he'd been an accidental witness too involved less poetry and flowers and more finding a dark corner away from templars. He hadn't intended to send his letter to Lana. Maker, she'd probably take it as bad as the Seeker and...No, no she'd pat him on the cheek and call it adorable in a way that soothed his ego while also discouraging his attempt to woo her.

"Commander, am I right in assuming you do not have much experience with women?"

"That, uh, that's not entirely..." Andraste's tears, this was the last thing he ever thought he'd have to suffer today - Seeker Penteghast questioning the history of his love life, or lack there of. Cullen felt himself dissolving before her eyes into a puddle of flop sweat and mumbled excuses. Cullen Rutherford, 9:10 - 9:41, Died of Embarrassment. Too wet to even burn.

Cassandra's unwavering countenance broke for a moment and an almost motherly kindness shone through, "You are not alone." Then she glanced down at the paper and smirked, "Though you might want to skip referencing the Calenhad book next time."

"I...uh, right, sure, good advice. For that to-" he glared down at his vain attempts at whatever it was. Seduction? Romance? Cullen was uncertain of it at all. He'd wanted to do something but didn't know where to begin. "I was hoping to unearth a trick to revealing my inner thoughts."

"And you thought citing others words would help?" Cassandra laughed, "You spent too much time around mages. Do you find yourself tongue tied around this woman of your fancy?"

"No," he shook his head, "the exact opposite. I feel I can tell her anything." He paused thinking of their time behind the snow. Lana knew whispers of his soul he'd never bared to anyone. "But it comes out in an unstoppable flow, there's no rhythm, no finesse. It's a mess, not the sort that would...ignite any passion. Or, I am uncertain what I mean."

"I see," Cassandra nodded her head, "and I understand. I too feel that at times, when your soul wishes to burst but there is only a trickle that drips free. It can be painful."

Cullen twisted his head up, surprised to find how accurate that felt. "Seeker, do you have someone you're...?"

"Ah!" Cassandra waved her hand, cutting off his question, "We are discussing your love life, yes?"

"Right, my worst fear come to life," Cullen chuckled, but there was no venom now. He hadn't expired from shock or dehydrated from terror sweat, and he was fairly certain Cassandra wasn't going to throw him off the tower for accidentally propositioning her.

"I do not have much in the way of advice for this unknown woman. Contrary to most courting books, we are not all of the same mind. If you care for her, say that. If you love her, say that."

"You act as if it is so easy."

"Revealing your feelings is the most terrifying thing a person can do. Few things in this world leave you as vulnerable, but, you are not without bravery in the face of adversity. Practice it a few times, and I'm certain it will come to you."

"That is, helpful," Cullen said. With his free hand, he bunched up the parchment already intending it for the fire. "Thank you. I'll think upon it, I suppose."

"Truly?" Cassandra blinked, "I thought it a ball of fluff myself."

He chuckled from the warrior's surprise, "Even fluff can be useful at times."

Cassandra tipped her head, and rose up, business flooding her veins. "Right, if there are no other pressing matters, I should return to the armory. I hear we had some mishap involving poorly tempered steel and someone trying to quench a dagger with blood."

His eyes rolled at the familiar tale, "Why do they always think it'll make a master weapon instead of ruin the blade entirely?"

The Seeker shrugged, "People prefer the romanticized version to real life." With only a gentle twist of her head, she gestured to the purple prose knotted up in Cullen's fingers. Before he could respond, Cassandra turned to leave. At the door, she paused and smiled back at him, "Oh, and Commander. Get her a gift, something only you'd know she'd like."

"I will," he smiled, an idea tripping through the back of his mind.

"Good, everyone loves gifts," Cassandra's parting words followed behind her.

* * *

"That was a lot of bandits. How many did we kill? Thirty, forty?" Hawke rolled her massive shoulders forward then backwards, the blood flecking off her armor. Both of them couldn't wait to get back to their room and scrub the gore off. They'd been calling dibs the entire trek up the mountain.

"It was twelve and you know it," Lana sighed.

"Felt like fifty," Hawke said and Lana had to agree. Even her hair hurt after their ambush of the ambush. Still, no one was going to be preying on Inquisition convoys anymore. With her bloodied fist, Hawke gripped onto their door's latch and nearly ripped it off in her haste to get inside. "I call first bath!"

"Oh no, you lost that last game of sword, dagger, staff. It's mine."

"But I won at crosses and naughts," Hawke crowed as she stepped into their room and chucked her greatsword upon the bed which bowed from the weight. Then she spun towards the desk and skidded to a halt, "What in thedas is that?"

Lana paused in unknotting her hair to follow her cousin's line of sight. Perched upon their desk was a potted plant, a book, and a tray of cookies. The bath forgotten by both women, they approached the offerings like an animal would an unexpected and unexplained treat. Is it a trap or no? Her fingers ran up and down the leaves of the plant twisting the waxy green tips as a small memory stirred in the back of her mind. "Sweet Maker, this is a northern prickleweed. Never thought I'd see it again. Certainly not the seeds. Did you know they're onyx?"

"Uh huh," Hawke bobbed her head, uninterested. She was inspecting the cookies by prodding into them with the tip of her pinkie finger.

Lana ignored that for the book. Bound in blue linen, it smelled fresh off the printing press. So new they didn't even have time to emboss the title upon the cover. She peeled it back to read the contents inside, "'Spirits and their effect upon rift magic with emphasis on breaches in the veil.' I've never read this one." Her eyes dashed over the first few lines establishing the mage's hypothesis. She recognized the byline immediately as a researcher who had a fondness for the denizens of the fade the chantry wasn't ecstatic about.

"Right," Hawke said aloud. Accepting the cookies weren't about to bite her, she lifted one of the blonde treats to her teeth and gave a single, solitary crunch. Half of it fell apart in her mouth, crumbs scattering down her chin while the champion thoughtfully chewed. "Tastes like butter, sugar, and boring. A waste of both."

"Hm..." Lana snatched up another cookie and sampled it. She knew the flavors the second they hit her tongue. They were the exact same cookies the tower baked every other week. Bland to most of thedas, there was a special ratio where the sugar and butter didn't overwhelm each other, but worked in harmony. She'd been scrabbling to try and recreate the recipe to capture her own bite of nostalgia but had been unsuccessful. How did...

"So someone sends us a weed, a boring book on mage shit, and an even boringer tray of cookies," Hawke nodded her head. "Right, I'm off to take a bath." She snatched up her old Kirkwall pajamas and strode off for the well. "Call me if you find out they were secretly poisoned."

Lana ran her fingers over the offerings and smiled as the pattern struck her. Flowers, poetry, and candy but each chosen, changed, with her in mind to fit her own peculiar tastes in the world. Maker, that man... Grabbing onto a few more cookies, Lana pocketed them, stuffed one more into her mouth, and ran off. She needed to thank Cullen in person.

* * *

"So..." Leliana uncorked her personal bottle of wine and filled a clay cup nearly to the brim. Clinging to the edge of the roof, Lana gazed down at the snowy mountains miles below her. This high up she almost felt like a bird clipping through the clouds.

Accepting the glass, she watched Leliana pour her own drink, then pause to add a few drizzles of honey. "So what?" Lana began.

Her friend took a slow sip of the wine before speaking. "You and Commander Cullen, of all things."

"Oh Maker, not this again." Lana twisted her head so hard she hoped it would some how magically transport herself off the rookery roof. Maybe off the mountain itself beyond Leliana's reach.

"No judgement here, Lanny. He's...an excellent choice all things considered."

"'All things considered' being eternal loneliness or, what, a hurlock?"

Leliana snorted from Lana's exasperated sigh and she took another drink. "I'm curious, is all, what brought you two together. You two seem to have formed a bond rather quickly in a narrow time span."

"Oh that," Lana shrugged, finally sampling her own wine. It was dangerously smooth, as crisp as the late fruits of summer. "I'm easy."

Almost spitting out her own wine from Lana's impetuousness, Leliana swallowed it back, "Perhaps," she smiled, sharing in Lana's ornery mood, "but the commander most certainly is not."

The absolute certainty in her sentence gave Lana pause and she turned to her old friend who now had the official title of Symaster. She kept forgetting about that part. "And you know this how?"

Leliana shrugged, "I may have done some investigating earlier, for the sake of the Inquisition of course and before I was aware of your own intentions with the strapping templar."

"Do I even want to know?" Lana massaged her forehead with one hand while pouring back the wine with the other. Winds whistled while dipping in and out of the bottle's open neck, the noise mimicking a dying bird.

"Actually, there was nothing discovered. Which I admit in anyone else I would chalk up to misdirection to bury dangerous secrets, but with the Commander..."

"You could have just asked him, you know. Wait, do you have the romantic history on everyone in the Inquisition?"

"There are far too many to be able to pry into everyone's history," Leliana said without answering her question. "So..."

"Andraste's tears, not the so again," Lana moaned. They'd begun drinking below inside the rookery when too many spies flocked around them needing information or just getting in the way. Both wanted to escape and for some reason the roof had seemed the best choice. Lana already had only a vague control of her tongue and she feared where it would lead to now.

"When did this passion between you two begin? When you were a mage in the circle tower?"

"You remembered his, uh..." Lana shifted in her seat, feeling uncomfortable from the past rising from its depths, "confession, then?"

"It was difficult to forget. Ali...Certain people moaned about the insinuation for days."

"Of course he bloody did," Lana shook her head. "No, I never, we never in the tower. I was..." She smiled and regrouped, "I was far too much of a goody two shoes to ever go against the rules and fraternize with a templar."

"When then?"

"Four years ago I enlisted Cullen's help in a warden matter to help track down a blood mage. We wound up in the deep roads on the hunt where I proceeded to mount him like a dragon in heat." A flush burned up her cheeks, but she suspected it was the drink's doing and not her crass tongue. That would burn her much later.

"Four years...when he was yet a templar in the order?" Leliana did the maths.

Lana grinned, "I'm not such a goody two shoes anymore."

Leliana laughed and they clinked glasses for losing that good girl sheen. Sweet and naive was nice until you needed to accomplish something, then the mask peeled away, the serpent reared its head, and the truth bit into the enemy. Tipping back the last of her wine, Leliana placed her cup on the roof and gazed out upon the golden rays of the sun hiding in the pink clouds. "Does Alistair know?"

Nearly falling off the roof in shock, Lana dug her fingers into the tiles to keep herself stationary. Shaking her head like mad, she grumbled, "I don't know. I don't care."

Something of that old bard spark struck again in Leliana, the kind willing to nail smallclothes to chantry boards. Her eyes caught Lana. "Would you want him to?"

Leliana wanted to hurt him, or at least drive that nail in an inch deeper for what he did to Lana. But, no, that wasn't the way. It wasn't fair to Cullen. He wasn't just some revenge to strike back at the one that broke her. He was...she'd figure it out later. "No," Lana shook her head, "no, if he ever found out it would...no. He can remain ignorant."

"As always," Leliana said while lifting her glass up to refill it. Lana snickered and finished off her own. They'd sat like this after the battle of Denerim while all of Ferelden's soldiers rushed around trying to follow their new king's contradictory orders. Perched atop one of the few not burned or crumbled roofs, the pair shared the only bottle they could find and talked about anything but Alistair or darkspawn. Zevran's tattoos had been a particularly favorite subject and, after finding a second then third bottle, they may have tried to sneak a peek. Which then ended in a naked Antivan crow chasing them down the streets of Denerim offering to let them get close and personal while they giggled for the entire run.

"How are you holding up, about Dorothea?" Lana asked. She'd broached the topic a few times and always got the rote curt response. It was the same one she'd give if in Leliana's position given the precarious balance of enemies to friends, but Lana knew what the woman turned Divine meant to her. What she'd done for her when she was at her lowest point, the hope she gave. Leliana wouldn't offer her hand to just anyone.

"I am continuing. Finding answers will help." Either the drink or time had loosened Leliana's tongue enough. Maybe she just needed someone to talk to who had nothing to do with the Inquisition. "And...I keep wondering what Dorothea would think of this? Of this mess with the chantry cannibalizing itself, the templars lost to the whims of an ancient tevinter magister. Corypheus himself. Can you believe he walked in the Black City?"

Lana hugged an arm around her chest, "I try to not think about it. If he, I mean if it's true-true then he's...he's the reason I'm tainted in the first place. To stop what he started. It's... Like I said, I don't think about it."

"Dorothea would have asked us to look within ourselves, to trust that the Maker has placed these roadblocks in our path for a purpose. But I..." Leliana shook her head, "I cannot understand it."

"Me neither," Lana paced her cup down and caught her free hand. "The chantry is, has been beyond me for awhile now, but I'm here. We'll find this Corypheus and end him."

Leliana smiled, "I am grateful that He saw fit to put you back in my path. It would be a much gloomier hold without you here."

"That's only because a certain bard hasn't graced us with a song," Lana laughed, sliding back on her arms. "I don't think you went more than a day or two without breaking into one. Drove Morrigan nuts."

A cruel smirk caught Leliana's lips, but it broke to sorrow, "My heart has not felt up to it, though I heard you were known to..." She moved to grab the wine bottle when the slick tiles and an errant breeze slid it out of her grasp. Lana scrabbled to follow, but the bottle went careening towards the battlement floors and a messy end. As if sent by the Maker himself, a hand snatched at the flying bottle, saving it from death.

Hawke's wide grin beamed up at the two staring down in shock at her. "Hey! What are you two doing up here? Throwing bottles around?"

"It slipped," Lana said.

"Good thing I'm here then," Hawke called as she chucked the bottle underhanded back into the Spymaster's arms. Without an invitation, the Champion scrabbled up the walls to plop upon the roof, her legs dangling off the edge. "What's new on the roof? Planning some Ferelden coup to take over Orlais? If so, I'm game."

"Aren't you Marcher?" Leliana asked.

"Hey, my home was Lothering 'til the darkspawn did a...you know. You were there, right Sister?" she asked trying to peer through Leliana's mask. It slipped back on when Lana wasn't watching. "Sister to Spymaster, that's one hell of a lateral move."

"Refugee to Champion," Leliana cut back.

"Mage to Not Drunk Enough Mage," Lana interrupted waving her hand between the two. Slipping the bottle out of Leliana's fingers, she filled her cup and took a deep drink. Her entire face flushed and sweat dripped down her back, the alcohol folding her tight into its sticky embrace.

"So, if it's not some big Ferelden secret, what were you two talking about?" Hawke continued. In boredom, she'd jam her elbow into the roof's tiles, then drag it along the pattern of the gaps.

"Private matters," Leliana said tight lipped, then a whisper of a smile turned up her frown, "Lana and Cullen."

"Oh," Hawke lit up like an effigy, "you know about them two too? It's damn adorable, right? He's like an ecstatic puppy that needs to pee when she's around."

"What?" Lana shook her head, trying to fight through the fuzz over her brain and defend his honor. "He is not."

"And Cuz here, I've never seen her get so tongue-tied before," Hawke jabbed a thumb at her.

"I have," Leliana said, "many years ago."

"Do tell," Hawke scooted closer to the Spymaster, but Lana tried to wedge a foot in between them.

"No you don't," she said waggling a finger at her friend. It was bad enough Hawke knew all she did, but adding that... While she knew Leliana had enough self control to keep from going after Alistair, Lana was uncertain about Hawke. It wasn't beyond the pale to picture the Champion of Kirkwall ripping off a door in Denerim and challenging the king to a duel. Worst of all, Alistair might be loopy enough to accept it.

Leliana demurred to her friend's wishes. She slowly brought her cup to her lips, and - before taking a sip - said, "I am curious how the Commander is in bed."

"Yes!" Hawke slapped her thigh hard enough to startle a nest of starlings. "You got the solider thing, right, so good at following orders which is nice assuming it's not all saluting. But he was so damn rigid in the gallows I'd thought the man was...you know, dead from the belt down."

"Maker, no," Lana moaned, wishing she could slide away off the roof.

"He appears to have loosened since then," Leliana said, her face not betraying the gigantic laugh Lana knew was buried in her heart.

"Loosened her up too, I bet," Hawke undulated her eyebrows as if her innuendo was too subtle for them.

Leliana twisted her head, "Really? That would explain Lanny's extended gait at times."

"For the love of the Maker," Lana buried her head into her hands. Leliana gently patted her on the shoulder as if she wasn't as much to blame for this mortification as Hawke, who kept talking.

"There's that as a give away, true, but you know you can tell the correlation at times without needing to remove the trousers."

"Hand size is what I've heard," Leliana continued. Lana had nothing to add beyond the occasional moan and request to any god listening to strike her dead.

"Nah, that's old fish tales. It's in how they act you can figure it out. Like a hill. At the one bottom end you get the under developed over actors, the ones who think they've got to distract so they go super manly bash and smash for fear of shattering their fragile egos. Same reaction at the top but for different reasons. Ooh look at me, I've got a broadsword in my trousers. I'm the biggest, baddest thing here." Unable to leave well enough alone, Hawke mimicked such a sight with her arm as a stand in. Lana nearly died by sheer willpower alone. "It's the ones that know they have nothing to prove who are more relaxed about it all. Don't need to posture and beat their chest, just smile secretly and go about it. How's that old fairy tale go? Not too big, not too small, just right. And something about porridge."

Having finished her treatise on men and their correlating size, Hawke and Leliana turned to Lana. Her entire backside had to be bright red from the blush. She knew her face was because it was buried in her lap, the burn warm against her fingers trying to shield her from them.

"Well?" Leliana prompted.

"Well, what?" Lana shot back, trying to fall back on anger to save her.

"Does Hawke's theory hold up in practice?"

Lana blinked carefully in Leliana's face, then turned to her traitorous cousin. Folding her arms over her chest, she huffed, "Do you really want to know the answer to that? To think upon it whenever you next see him? To have it flash through your mind when the fate of thedas hangs in the balance?"

Leliana's eyes closed as she digested that idea while Hawke shrugged with a, "Maybe."

"No, Lana is correct. There are some things that...everyone deserves their secrets."

"Thank you," Lana sighed, grateful to be free.

"Cullen is lucky to have you guard them so strongly," her friend smiled. "He must be something special to you."

"I...suppose so." She hadn't thought of it that way, only knew that it would put him on the pyre if he ever found out Leliana or Hawke learned that about him. Lana never wanted to hurt him, not like that.

Hawke shrugged again and picked up the wine bottle. She sniffed down the neck, then yanked her puckered face away. "Don't matter either way. Since he walks around without any smallclothes on, it's damn easy to tell."


	24. Sequel

The sequel to _**My Templar**_ has begun. Follow along with Cullen and Alistair as they search for Lana in _**My Hope.**_ _  
_

 _Cullen thought he lost Lana Amell when she sacrificed herself to remain in the fade, but now the king of Ferelden has her phylactery and insists she's alive somewhere on the other side of thedas. Can he trust this man he barely knows or can stand as they travel through treacherous waters and lands while searching to find the woman he loves? All he has to cling to is his faith and hope._


End file.
